The King's Men
by xwincesterx
Summary: TAG to Do You Believe in Miracles. For Stories4Charity request. "I NEED demon!Dean re-addicting Sam to demon blood and the two of them going on a wincest-fueled rampage to kill all the demon and angel parasites currently infesting earth. For the greater good of course." *Temporary character death*
1. Chapter 1

**The King's Men**

**Rated M. So many reasons.**

**Summary: TAG to Do You Believe in Miracles. For Stories4Charity request. "****I NEED demon!Dean re-addicting Sam to demon blood and the two of them going on a wincest-fueled rampage to kill all the demon and angel parasites currently infesting earth. For the greater good of course."**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or its characters. **

Once Sam finished the summoning spell and the King of Hell appeared before him, he stood from his crouch. "Crowley!" he hated that his voice had cracked when he'd said it. He'd meant to sound pissed.

"Calm yourself, Moose," he replied with a raised brow. "I know what you called me here to do."

"Then do it!" he once again tried to sound angry, but his voice was only showing the sorrow he felt.

"It's already done," the demon told him. "So don't go trying to make a deal. I've settled this one. I know I got him into this mess. Least I could do," he said with a shrug.

Sam's expression faltered for a moment, his face going slack as he wasn't quite sure how to react to the information; whether he should believe it. "What?"

"Dean is alive," Crowley told him. "Go and see for yourself, if you don't believe me." Sam moved to turn around. "But I should probably tell you," he started, and Sam turned back to him, "He's a bit different."

"What's that supposed to mean?" and there was the angry voice he'd tried to find earlier.

"Not my doing," he replied. "I only returned the blade to its owner. It took care of the rest."

"Took care of what?" Sam asked gruffly, taking a step forward with his words.

"Why don't you just go on up and see your brother, Sam? He's alive. That's what you wanted, right? That's all that matters." The demon narrowed his eyes as he observed Sam's reaction. "He's stuck right now," he told him. "Probably needs your help." At that, Sam's eyes twitched for a moment before he turned and headed out of the room. "I'll wait here," the demon called after him...

"Dean?" Sam called out as he made his way quickly through the bunker halls. "Dean?" He tried not to think about the fact that Crowley could just be lying to him; that Dean was still lying dead in his bed. He'd been willing to do anything to get his brother back. Anything at all, and he knew how messed up it was, especially after all the shit he gave Dean about doing that for Sam.

His head was still buzzing from the liquor he'd finished off earlier. But now his heart was pounding and pushing it through his system at full speed. He was excited and terrified and confused and fuck if he knew what else to do but keep looking.

"Dean!" he stopped in his tracks, shocked when he saw his brother standing in the hallway ahead of him. Dean looked up for just a moment before turning away. "Dean!" Sam said again, voice cracking as he moved forward to get to him. When he did, he grabbed onto his brother's arms as if to make sure he was really there.

"Don't look at me, Sam," Dean said in a low, quiet voice.

"Dean, you're alive... How are you alive? God, Dean," tears of joy ran down his cheeks, a relief flowing through him quicker than the alcohol.

"You don't understand," Dean said, shaking his head. "I'm...I'm not..."

"You're not what?"

Dean looked at him then, blinking to reveal his new, true eyes, just for a moment before blinking them back again. "I'm not human anymore," he told him, his face washing with sorrow then.

Sam shook his head, tears still coming full blast. It was a shock to see this; to know what Dean was right now. But it didn't matter. "It doesn't matter," he said out loud, wrapping his arms around Dean and pressing tightly to him. "It doesn't matter, 'cause you're alive. Nothing else matters," he cried.

"I'm sorry," Dean's voice was strained, and the sound of something hitting the floor rang in their ears before Dean's arms were around Sam, holding him just as tightly. "I'm so fucking sorry, Sammy..."

.~*~.

Later, after Sam let Dean out of the devil's trap he'd gotten stuck under in the hallway and picked up the blade he'd dropped to the floor in order to hug his brother, and after he'd given Dean a change of clothes and disposed of the ones he'd died in, Sam passed out from exhaustion...well, and a bit of drunkenness, perhaps.

Dean sat at Sam's bedside and watched him for an undetermined amount of time before he heard Crowley calling out for him. He glanced at the blade for a moment. Sam had wrapped it up and put it on the dresser earlier. But he avoided picking it up when he stood and walked out of the room.

"Oh good," Crowley said as Dean entered his line of vision. "Thought I'd be stuck down here for days." Dean said nothing as he approached. His features were blank, but his eyes never left Crowley's. "That brother of yours pulled me out of the room before we could talk properly."

"What else would you have to say to me?" Dean asked, stopping to stand before him, arms crossed over his chest.

"Well for one, I'm sorry about your death and all," he said casually. He waited a moment to continue, as Dean said nothing. "You did...hear what I said to you up there, right? Just want to make sure you..."

"Yeah, I heard you."

"Good."

"If you think I'm gonna come work for you now, you're wrong," Dean told him.

"That's not what I was going to say," Crowley insisted.

"I'm not like you. I'm not like any of you. This is just a fucked up loophole I got the shit-end deal of. I'm still me."

"Yes, Dean. You're still you," Crowley agreed. "Except that you're not human anymore. You need guidance."

"Guidance?" Dean said with an amused grin. "You think I need guidance from _you_?"

"You're a demon now, Squirrel. You need someone to help get you through your transition; get you on your big-boy legs."

"You just want me to be your puppet," Dean countered. "Your new toy; a weapon of mass destruction right at your fingertips."

"That sounds like fun. Really it does," Crowley agreed. "But that's not the case. I meant it when I said I hadn't planned this."

"You hadn't planned on me dying, you mean."

"Of course I hadn't planned on that!" Crowley replied. "You're Dean-bloody-fucking-Winchester! I tried killing you for years before I realized it was a lost cause! You and that enormous brother of yours have died more times than I care to discuss, and you just keep coming back again, annoying as ever. So no, I didn't plan on you dying."

"Of course not," Dean replied calmly. "You wanted me to need to kill; put a leash on me and make me your little, unstoppable Hellhound."

"Not exactly..."

"Well that's not how things are gonna go, Crowley. Or whatever else way you might be thinkin'. Now, Sam might be thrilled if I ran the blade through your heart." Crowley's eye twitched and narrowed. "But I'm not gonna do that," Dean told him. "As much of a pain in my ass as you've been all these years, you've also been kinda useful. Not that it makes up for everything, mind you." He began pacing in a slow circle around the demon as he talked. "But also because I know that all the grunt demons roaming this planet would have a field day without a king; they'd cause chaos, and everything would go to hell in a hand basket."

"Probably so," Crowley said quietly.

"So instead, here's what's gonna happen," Dean continued. "You're gonna tell them that it's time to go home."

"Excuse me?" Crowley asked, a brow raised as he turned his ear toward Dean.

"You and your puppets are going back to Hell or Purgatory or wherever the hell else you can think of that ain't here, because once I've got everything straight with Sam, we're gonna destroy every last one of you that're still topside."

"Is that supposed to be some kind of threat?"

"It's a guarantee, Crowley," Dean replied, stopping in front of the demon again. "No more games. All the crap the whole lot of you pulled, I'm done. You've overstayed your welcome. You can leave peacefully, or you can do it the hard way. We may not be human anymore, but we still got free will, right? Take your chances if you want."

"And you can't use the demon tablet because it would lock you away, too," Crowley surmised. "Tell me, Dean. If you intend to wipe the planet free of demons, what happens to you when you're finished taking care of the rest of us?"

Dean smiled at him after a moment. For some reason, it was creepier than an angry expression.

"What?" Crowley asked. "What's that supposed to mean, eh?"

"Doesn't matter," Dean replied. "It's not your problem."

"Isn't it?" the demon countered. "If you plan on joining us when this is all said and done, I've gotta put up with you in Hell for eternity, don't I? You'd run around killing everything in sight. What am I supposed to do then?"

"I'm making you a deal, Crowley," Dean replied, grin fading from his face. "You get your minions to go home peacefully, and every one that goes quietly and stays put, I promise not to kill. No one else gets that deal. No one. And no more making more demons, either. The rack goes away. You don't get to turn anymore souls, got it?"

"That's what Hell is supposed to be about," Crowley argued.

"No. Hell is imprisonment and seclusion; loneliness and heartache and grieving. It's knowing you're never gonna see the ones you love, ever again. Torture? That's just sick shit for your own pleasure. It's like your way of breeding. And I'm telling you-"

"_You_ don't tell _me_ anything!" Crowley growled. "_I'm_ the King of Hell, _not_ you! _You_ should be taking orders from _me_!"

Dean laughed. Actually laughed loudly, leaning back with the intensity of it. It made the other demon uncomfortable, to say the least. "Oh man," he said when it died down enough for him to speak. "That really was a nice try. I'll give you that. But you know as well as I do, I could be the king in as little time as it'd take me to get upstairs and back. You think anyone would dare step up to me?"

Crowley said nothing for a moment. "Bloody dirty son of a bitch. I see you're already fitting in quite nicely in your new skin."

"Guess I'm just a fit-in kinda guy," Dean snarked.

"So you're okay with being hated by your own kind, then?"

"Wouldn't be any different from any other day," Dean retorted.

"So let me get this straight," Crowley said. "You want me to agree to go back to Hell...in exchange for my life?"

"That's the deal."

"You realize that's a shit deal."

"Take it or leave it."

"Can I make a better suggestion?"

"You can try."

"I'll do everything you just said," he began. "And give you my blessing to kill off any halfwits who don't listen to me. In fact, I'll even help you track them down, if you like."

"In exchange for what?" Dean asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"You and me," he pointed back and forth between them, "We're best friends forever."

"No dice," Dean turned to leave.

"All right, fine!" Crowley shouted. "Just friends then."

"We're not friends, Crowley!" Dean said, turning back to him.

"'Course we are," he countered. "Sure it might've started out a forced arrangement, but we've been helping each other far longer than what we ever had to. You can't deny that."

"Maybe you don't understand what the word means," Dean said, shaking his head.

"Or maybe it's that _you _don't," Crowley countered. "In my book, the best of friends are those who help each other, no matter whether they like it or not. And they do it because they understand that it's what the other wants; that it might make them happy."

"The hell are you talking about?" Dean scoffed. "You never helped me for my happiness."

"Nothing makes you happy," Crowley said. "Except maybe for pie...sex... If that's really what you want, I'm sure I can arrange it. Oh but wait!" he said, holding up a finger in the air. "Sammy."

"Don't you call him that," Dean growled.

"Your gigantic baby brother. The only thing that has a snowball's chance at ever making you happy, really. Did you forget I saved him for you?"

"In exchange for your freedom," Dean replied.

"I could've still said no," Crowley told him. "But I knew that the only thing truly keeping you alive in this world is the existence of that giraffe. That's always been true, and it always will be."

"What's your point, Crowley?" Dean asked.

"My point is, you and I are friends," he held up a hand when Dean started to protest again. "Which means I get to come up and visit now and then, because that's what friends do."

"Visit?" Dean raised a brow.

"Hell can get a bit...stuffy at times," Crowley said with a shrug. "I won't do anything bad," he assured. "No funny business; I swear on my idiot son."

"How assuring."

"And as a bonus, I'll spend all my spare time figuring out how to help you out of your...predicament."

"What?" Dean lifted his head a bit at that, eyes narrowing again.

"Honestly, I think you underestimate how many strings I have the ability to pull," Crowley said with a shake of his head. "It's not going to be easy, I'll say that much. But it can't be impossible. So, while you and Sam are busy housecleaning, I can be looking for that possibility."

"And if you do?" Dean asked. "If there's a way to fix me, what's to stop you from letting everything go back to how it is?"

"My word," he replied. "You know I can't break a deal."

Dean looked away for a moment in thought. "If Sam and I find a way before you can, you've gotta sweeten the pot," Dean bargained.

"Oh, a demon after my own heart," Crowley said with a grin.

"Every monster remaining after Sam and I are done, you have to get rid of."

"By myself?" Crowley scoffed.

"You sayin' you can't handle it?"

"I'm not exactly standing in line for Hunter Scouts!"

"Well then I guess you better find that possibility before we do," Dean said with a grin.

Crowley growled as he turned away from Dean. "How long do I have? To send out the return-to-Hell air sirens?"

"Three days," Dean replied, then knelt down in front of the lot of items spread out for the summoning spell. "No games, Crowley," he said as he looked up at him again. "If Sam and I come out of this in the end, we're off limits. You don't get to toy with us. Got it?"

"Absolutely."

Dean pushed over the bowl of water, causing it to spill over the chalk line of the symbol, and Crowley was gone.

.~*~.

When Sam began to drift back into consciousness, that place between sleep and awake, the memory of Metatron driving the angel sword through Dean's chest flashed into his mind. The moment the life faded out of Dean's eyes...

Dean was sitting beside the bed again when his brother began sobbing in his sleep. Dean's brows furrowed as he pushed out of the chair and went to sit down on the mattress. "Sam?" he said softly, his hand going to his brother's arm. "Sammy, wake up."

Sam's eyes shot open, his breath becoming wild as he tried to focus on the sight before him. "Dean?" He blinked rapidly, his memory returning quickly now. "You... You're alive," he said, then pushed up enough to pull his brother into a hug, as if seeing him alive for the first time all over again. Dean held onto him and waited for him to remember all of it. "Dean..." He expected him to push him away, be disgusted and angry. "What do we do now?" Sam asked. "What does this mean for us?"

Dean was the one who pulled away, holding him at arms length to look at him. "We're gonna burn every stray demon and angel to dust," he told him. "You and me."

"You're...not gonna leave me?" Sam asked, eyes wide and darting back and forth between Dean's.

Dean nearly laughed at the question. "Shouldn't I be asking you that question?"

"I'm never leaving you again," Sam told him, hand clutching at his brother's shirt with the words, eyes wet.

Dean was washed with relief, and his love for Sam was brighter than any other feeling he had in that moment. He pulled Sam back into an embrace, holding him close as he silently rejoiced in the fact that his words to Crowley were absolutely true. Dean was still Dean...

.~*~.

"I have a plan," Dean told his brother as he forced some breakfast in front of him at the table. "And I already kinda started it going."

"You what?" Sam asked curiously.

"Gave Crowley three days to evacuate his clan back to Hell. We'll have free reign over the leftovers. Should make it a lot easier. Angels might be a little more tricky though."

"Dean, I... I hate to bring this up, but... You're way powerful now. You've got an indestructible weapon that can kill anything, and you're strong as...well...Hell. But I'm... I dunno. I feel like I'm just gonna end up slowing you down," he said as he looked down at his plate of eggs, pushing them around with a fork.

"Sam," Dean said as he pulled a chair in front of his brother and sat down to face him. "You forget you're pretty much a super secret weapon? All you need is some fuel, and you've got yourself an endless supply right here."

When Sam realized what Dean meant, his eyes widened. "Dean, no!" he pushed away from the table a bit in a panic. "You know what it could do-"

"Hey, just hang on," Dean tried to calm him, grabbing onto his arms. "It didn't change who you were, Sam. You were still you. You just had your brain all scrambled by that conniving douche-bag Ruby." Sam's eyes darted in the air between them as he thought that over. "This time, you'd have me. We're both after the same thing here; get rid of all the demons and wayward angels. When we're through, we wean you off the blood. Then you get yourself righteous and cure my ass."

"Or we just cure you now, and get rid of them the old fashioned way," Sam suggested.

"As much fun as that sounds," Dean replied, "As long as I'm black-eyed, the mark doesn't give me the uncontrollable urge to kill. So...until we can figure out a way to get rid of it, I gotta stay this way."

Sam was quiet for a long time, mulling over everything he'd been told. Dean tried to be patient in waiting for his response.

"Crowley's agreed to pull some strings and see if he can find a way," Dean told him. "So...he'll be working on that."

Sam looked at him then. "You're still working with Crowley, then?"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "Crowley's working for _me_."

Sam's knee was bouncing in front of him. The silence that followed was nearly deafening. But then Sam finally spoke.

"Get me the blood."

Tbc...


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Okay first off, thank you all for the awesome reviews! I never get any notifs in my email, so...I tend to not see them until I sign back in, and then it feels overwhelming to try and respond. So I'm doing it here until this site's email-constipation clears up xD. If anyone has an idea of why this is happening, please let me know. I've tried turning off the notifications, then turning them on again. No idea why it won't send me emails :/**

**.~*~.**

The idea of drinking demon blood again was both terrifying and exciting for Sam. He'd thought about it for a long time after it was initially over; after Lucifer was freed and they'd ended up in a plane in the air, put there by God-knows-who, and his addiction had completely vanished into thin air. He'd thought about how much good he'd done before the whole Lilith fiasco.

Demon blood...well, it was an insane concept, and he knew that under normal circumstances, doing that again was totally off the table. But this was different. Dean wanted him to do it this time. He would be helping Dean to wipe the demon population from the earth, and then they would fix each other, and everything would be okay. Detox was gonna be a bitch, but maybe...just maybe they could get some angelic assistance with that; like a bribe to let one of the stragglers live in exchange for making the demon blood go away. Or maybe Dean could convince Crowley to do something.

It didn't matter. Not yet anyway. They'd worry about that part later. Right now, Sam had his brother back, and they had a job to do. Nothing else mattered. Nothing mattered except that Sam had Dean back...

"Here ya go, Sammy," Dean said, pulling his younger brother from his thoughts. He placed a shot glass down in front of him, half-filled with blood.

Sam looked at it and then up to Dean. "Where'd you get this so fast?"

"You forget?" Dean asked, raising his brows for a moment before he blinked, exposing his black eyes for just a couple of seconds before hiding them again.

Why hadn't Sam thought about that before? When Dean had brought up the demon blood, why had Sam thought that he meant some _other_ demon's blood?

He stared at the shot glass for a while. He thought about the blood in it; about how Dean had bled out in his arms just the night before, and that it shouldn't be possible that there was anymore left to give. Then he thought about how the blood would taste. He could still remember it clearly, the taste of demon blood. The way it seemed bitter at first, but then became addictive, like black coffee at the crack of dawn; needing it in order to get through the day.

Sam reached out and took the glass, lifting it to his lips before he could think any more about it. He drank it like a shot of whiskey, letting it fall straight back to his throat and swallowing, not letting it sit in his mouth for too long. But the taste still bled into his tongue anyway, unfamiliarly sweet, and he fought not to pick the glass back up to lick the insides.

When he looked back up at Dean, the older brother's eyes still fixed on Sam, Dean's eyes looked dark. Not black; not his demon eyes, but something else that Sam couldn't quite put a finger on.

"How do you feel?" Dean asked, his voice a bit gruff.

"I..." Sam began, but then a warmth rushed through his body, forcing his eyes closed for a moment. It hadn't been like that with Ruby. When he'd drank her blood, it had taken a long time before it started to make him feel anything.

"Sam?" Dean was suddenly crouched down beside him, a hand on his arm, and when Sam opened his eyes, he could see the concern in Dean's.

"I'm okay," he told him in a rush of breath. "Just didn't expect that so soon..."

"Expect what?" Dean asked, curious.

"The rush, I guess you could call it," Sam replied.

Dean slowly smiled. "Maybe it's because it's me, and I'm so awesome," he told him, pushing to stand again, and deciding to take a seat in the chair beside his brother.

Sam smiled at that, and his eyes started to sting for a second before he reigned it in. "Um," he said, then cleared his throat, shifting a bit in his chair. "Maybe it _is _you," he told him. "Maybe it's because you're a different kind of...you know. You're more powerful than the others."

"And more handsome," Dean smirked. "Don't forget more handsome."

"Definitely there's that," Sam said, shaking his head. "And you're like...brand new. It's different. Your blood is... It tastes different. Than the blood I've had before, I mean."

"Different how?" Dean asked, raising a brow in curiosity.

"Like it's...better," Sam said with a shrug, not knowing how to describe it without sounding strange.

"Maybe it just seems better because it's been so long," Dean suggested. "Like remember that witch hunt back when you were still in high school, and we were stuck in the woods for like...six weeks, and had to live off of rations and friggin' squirrel meat? And then when we finally got outta there, Dad brought us to a Denny's and they had apple pie, and it wasn't even that great, but it was also the best thing I'd ever eaten as far as my taste-buds figured at the time."

Sam smiled fondly at the memory, but shook his head. "No, it's not like that," he told him. "I remember what it tasted like, and I never craved the taste. It was more like I needed it; like if I didn't get it I was gonna die. And I craved the feeling it gave me. But yours is like...good. Like it's...sweetened or something, and come to think of it, maybe it's all that pie you've been shoving into your arteries all these years."

"And you thought it would end up being a bad thing," Dean snarked. He watched his brother grin and duck his head. "You want more?" he asked, and Sam looked back up at him. His eyes were wider, his gaze flitting away and back in indecision, and Dean knew that it meant that he wanted to say yes. He wanted to, but thought it would be the wrong thing if he said it. As if Dean was asking him a trick question, trying to catch him in a trap.

Dean took the shot glass back, sliding it closer to himself before rolling up his sleeve.

"Dean," Sam started. "You don't...I mean, I don't have to. It...it's okay. I probably shouldn't..."

"Got plenty, Sam," he told him calmly, pulling out the knife he'd used early, and slicing a small cut across his arm, letting the blood drip into the glass. "Besides, we've got three days to train up, and once you're ready...well let's just say, no demon will expect the Winchesters using their own powers against them." He pressed a handkerchief over the wound and slid the glass over to Sam again.

Sam grabbed it all too eagerly and drank it down, letting it sit on his tongue a bit longer this time before swallowing it. Dean watched him, noting the pleased sound that escaped his little brother, and it made something shoot through him at the notion that played in his mind. He shifted in his seat.

Sam's face grew pink for a moment as he came back to himself. "Look...Dean," he began, then looked over at him. "I'm sorry," he told him. "For the way I've been acting lately, since everything that happened with the trials and Gadreel. I'm sorry I did that to you."

"Sam..." Dean shook his head, not wanting to have this conversation, and slightly confused by its sudden appearance.

"What I did, I know it hurt you," he continued. "Enough that you started...working with Crowley and getting neck-deep into everything that's led you to where you are now. This wouldn't have happened if I hadn't been such an asshole."

"And then Abaddon would still be roaming free, harvesting souls," Dean mentioned.

"Maybe," Sam replied. "Or maybe we could've cut her up again and put her back in the ground."

"That was a one-shot deal, Sam," he said, shaking his head. "She wasn't gonna let us pull that one on her again."

"We might've found a way..."

"Look, Sam... You don't need to be apologizing. I get it. You were pissed because I tricked you into choosing life. Thing is, if I'd let you die, there's no question I'd have ended up like this anyway. My life, whatever I had left of it without you here, would've been spent hunting down every last sonofabitch that I could, even if it meant working with Crowley to get there."

"But that's exactly my point," Sam replied wetly. "I'm _alive_, and I caused you enough hurt to go down the same path."

By the way Sam's breathing had changed, Dean knew he was fighting back tears. "I was meant to end up like this, Sam. Don't you get that?" he told him. "As much as I call bullshit on that 'destiny' crap, this was a long time in the making. I was told this was going to happen. I just had no idea why or how I would get here."

"You were...what? How? Who told you?" Sam questioned.

"That's not important. The point is that it was meant to be." Sam shook his head in denial. "But that doesn't mean we can't fix it," Dean added, placing a hand on Sam's arm. "You and me."

"Against the world," Sam added with a wet laugh.

Dean smiled at that. "Always, little brother..."

.~*~.

By dinnertime, they were testing Sam's abilities. Sam was hesitant.

"What if accidentally kill you or something?" The puppy-dog eyes made their appearance.

Dean smirked. "You'll do fine, Sam."

"I don't wanna use them on you, Dean," he said, shaking his head.

"This should be kinda like ridin' a bike," Dean told him. "You're not gonna kill me. Start with somethin' easy. Try to hold me back when I charge you, okay?" Sam still looked hesitant. "Look, it's not like we can grab another demon to test this out on. I made a deal with Crowley; gotta give 'em two more days. We start testing on demons, word could get out. We want the element of surprise. Okay?"

After a moment Sam nodded, still a little reluctant, but understanding a bit better now. Dean turned and stepped away a good thirty feet from him in the library. Then he stopped and turned around to face his brother again. "Ready?" Dean asked. Sam nodded silently, and Dean began to stalk forward, allowing his eyes to go black as he growled, and it was enough to put Sam on alert.

Sam raised his hand and willed his brother to stop.

Dean felt the resistance right away pressing on him like heavy wind, but he was still able to move forward.

Sam willed harder now, grimacing at the headache forming behind his eyes.

Dean's steps grew more difficult, the force pressing against him with more strength. It wasn't until he saw blood dripping from his brother's nose that he blinked, eyes going back to their normal green. "Okay, Sam. You can stop now."

He stopped, almost crumbling to the ground before Dean was in front of him and catching him. "More," Sam said, out of breath as Dean led him to a chair to sit him down. "I need more, Dean..."

"Yeah, in a minute," Dean told him. "You need to take a break."

"I just need more!" Sam countered.

"Just sit tight, damnit," Dean growled. "Stay put and I'll get you some, okay?"

"A bigger glass this time, Dean..."

Dean sighed as he stood straight. "So much for workin' up to it."

.~*~.

By one in the morning, Sam had Dean pinned against the wall from fifteen feet away, a proud grin on his face.

"Okay, I think you're officially back on the bicycle," Dean grunted.

"Your blood is better," Sam said. "It's faster."

"Yeah okay," Dean replied. "Let me go, Sam." Sam let go, and Dean staggered before gathering his bearings.

"Now try something on _me_," Sam told him, squaring his shoulders.

"Huh?" Dean was confused for a moment. "Like what?"

"Like try...throwing me into the wall or something. But uh...ya know, maybe not too hard."

Dean shrugged, then raised a hand toward Sam and made a flicking motion with his wrist, willing to toss Sam to the side lightly. Nothing happened. So he tried again, harder this time. Sam laughed happily. "Holy crap," Dean said, impressed.

"We can do this, Dean," Sam said with excitement. "This is gonna work."

"Of course it's gonna work," Dean replied with a scoff. "It was _my_ idea, wasn't it?" Sam chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. "Now, it's late. You should get some sleep." Then suddenly Sam seemed anxious again, eyes averting and darting around in the air between them. "I'm not goin' anywhere," Dean assured him.

Sam's eyes met his brother's. "I just... I guess I'm afraid I'm gonna wake up and...and this'll all have been some kind of alcohol-induced dream," he told him with a self-demeaning laugh.

Dean grinned almost sympathetically. "Don't worry, Sammy. Even _your _head ain't whacked out enough to have dreamed up this level of insanity..."

.~*~.

Since Dean was a demon now, he didn't sleep. Not that he'd slept much before, but now he actually didn't need it at all. He spent the night re-familiarizing himself with the locations of every devil's trap in the building, cleaning all of the guns, sharpening knives, and then taking a shower. He looked at himself in the mirror when he'd stepped out, realizing that where he used to enjoy his shower time, it wasn't quite as pleasing anymore. The water pressure didn't seem hard enough, even though just a couple of nights ago it was perfect to him.

His body was without blemish. Injuries from his fight with Metatron were long gone, no evidence to show for it. The multiple cuts he'd made on himself to bleed for Sam were also gone. Yet his tattoo was still there. The Mark of Cain was still on his arm. It was almost hilarious enough to laugh out loud about, but he merely smiled.

Part of him was anxious, maybe even afraid of what he was helping Sam to do. The old Dean would lock Sam up and leave him safe in the bunker while he went out and took care of this all himself. Sam would be pissed, but he'd be alive and well and not drinking demon blood. Dean was aware of all of this, even now. But now he knew that what they were doing was the very best option. Dean was powerful strong. Sam could be, too. And sure, Dean could probably do this on his own, either way, but he wasn't gonna do it without Sam, and it was too dangerous for Sam to go with him without the kind of protection that demon-blood gave him.

This was the best plan they had right now. It might be a bit reckless, but there was nothing that could change the fact. This was going to work. And suddenly Dean had a taste of understanding for soulless-Sam's logic. He'd be pissed with himself right now if he wasn't so damned pleased with how things were going so far; if he didn't know that they could fix each other in the end...

Dean dried off and pulled on his boxers, then stopped his movements when he heard a muffled cry coming from somewhere up the hall.

Sam...

Dean hurried out of the bathroom and toward Sam's room, bursting in once he got there. "Sam?"

Sam was curled up on his side in his bed, shaking and sweating, sheets and blankets kicked off of him. Dean stared for a moment; Sam had opted to go to bed in just his boxers, and the lair wasn't exactly hot. Once he made the realization of what was happening, Dean hurried to his bedside.

"D-Dean," Sam said shakily as he met his brother's eyes. "N-need it... I need it...please..."

"Jesus, Sam," Dean swallowed at the too-soon withdrawal symptoms. "This ain't normal, is it?"

"I...I think it's... I dunno... I just need it. I need it, please, Dean!"

"Okay, okay, hang on," Dean said as his eyes went to the side table. There was a glass a quarter-filled with water, and he grabbed it, tossing the water out toward the corner of the room before setting the glass back down. He grabbed for the pocket-knife that sat beside Sam's watch on the table. "I've got you," Dean assured as Sam whined. "It's okay..." He sat on the edge of the mattress and ran the blade about an inch down his forearm, then went to put the knife down and grab the glass, but Sam grabbed his wrist and pulled Dean's arm to his mouth.

Dean gasped when Sam began to drink the blood directly from the cut, his lips closing on his skin as he suckled on it. He was frozen there, unwilling to pull away from Sam as the younger brother began to sit up a little more at each swallow. Every time Sam's tongue swiped over the wound, a jolt went straight to Dean's cock.

The old Dean might've pulled away; stopped it right then and there. Of course, the old Dean wouldn't be feeding his blood to his brother...

When Sam moaned, the vibration sent a wave of lust through Dean that he knew he shouldn't have. He tried to ignore it. A movement beside him caught his attention, and he looked to see Sam's hand pressed down against the front of his boxers. "Jesus, Sammy," he said again, but this time in a rushed exhale. "You gotta stop," he told him after a moment. "That's too much." But Sam wasn't hearing him. He was moaning and drinking and pressing his hips into his own hand, and it was driving Dean mad. He gripped the back of Sam's hair with his free hand and pulled him off of his arm. "Sammy, gotta stop," he told him more sternly.

Sam's eyes opened to Dean's, and suddenly he was pressing forward, hand clutching at Dean's shoulder for leverage to sit up all the way, and crushed his bloody mouth to Dean's.

Dean didn't fight him. He didn't want to. His hand still buried in Sam's hair pulled him closer while he used the other to maneuver himself, twisting on the bed to face him fully. And then Sam was crawling up onto him clumsily, legs moving to straddle Dean's, cock humping against Dean's abs through his boxers.

Dean growled low in his throat, and his arms snaked hungrily around his brother's back and flipped Sam down onto his back on the mattress, Dean fitting slotted between Sam's legs, pressing his hips into Sam's to show him just how mutual the situation was.

"Gnuh!" Sam moaned, arching up against his brother's administrations, noises escaping him with every breath, and then Dean's mouth was back on his, swallowing down every sound Sam made. Dean reached down between them, pulling the front of his boxers down, then doing the same with Sam's before he pressed back down against him, cocks sliding deliciously against each other, wet with pre-come.

They couldn't breathe. Kissing was no longer an option. Dean's forehead pressed into Sam's as they rutted against each other. He looked at his brother's face, amazed, shocked, and so incredibly turned on. It wasn't until Sam began keening beneath him that Dean felt himself losing control. He pressed his face into his brother's neck and let himself lose his rhythm; rough, quick thrusts pressing into Sam as he came. "Fuck!" he hissed into Sam's skin.

"Oh...god!" Sam shouted beneath him as he shook with his own release, streaking their stomachs with hot, white strips.

They laid there unmoving, except for the small quakes of aftershocks running through them, just breathing through it; breathing each other in. A thousand thoughts ran through their heads, a bitch not being one of them. But at least one was mutual.

_So that just happened..._

.~*~.

**Tbc...**

**AN: Please give me a week, at least, to update! I've got a lot of Stories4Charity prompts to fulfill, and I wanna make sure everybody's happy ;) Thanks for your patience :) I'm loving writing this one!**


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Um... I keep forgetting to mention FANCON. You should go to it because I'm going and so are other cool people and there needs to be more people going... Basically it's a fandom party at a fancy venue with food and fanciness and things. But you don't have to be fancy, so it's perfect! We're gonna have [optional] LARPing (for those of you who don't know what that is, you put on a costume/prop that makes you your favorite character from the show, and we'll be prompted as a group to act it out. It's gonna be hilarious and fun!) You can find and message Xenascully here if you have questions, or check out the website which is uh... well actually she probably has it in her profile but in case I'm wrong, it's fandom-con dot com. Check out the 'about' section, and the cover charge and guest list are on another tab. The best thing is to find friends to road-trip with you and spend the weekend! Also check out the Stories4Charity tab where you can get your own custom story, like the one I'm writing here ;) from anyone on the list!**

**.~*~.**

They didn't talk about it.

Mainly because Sam was kind of in a weird, stoned-like trance afterward, staring up at the ceiling with heavily lidded eyes like someone had shot heroin into his veins. And Dean...well, Dean couldn't figure out how drinking blood had turned into rubbing off on each other.

Not that he hadn't enjoyed it. It was probably, out of everything Dean had ever done in his life, one of the hottest things he'd ever experienced. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he was a demon. Or maybe it was because it was _Sam_. Whatever the reason, Dean had liked it. He wanted more of it.

But Sam would have to be the one to start...whatever it was that needed starting. Dean might be a demon now, but he wasn't gonna start forcing himself on his brother. Hell, Sam might not have even actually meant to do any of that. And that would kind of be completely and totally unfair, but Dean would have to accept it. After all, maybe this was just part of being a demon; wanting your little brother's cock.

.~*~.

When Sam came back to his senses, he was surprised to see that Dean wasn't there in the room with him anymore. He sat up and looked down at himself. He'd been cleaned up, but there was still evidence of what they'd done, damp on the waistband of his boxers. He hadn't imagined it.

Sam wasn't exactly sure why it had happened. Something about Dean's blood, he figured. Something about it made him feel...whole.

It wasn't that demon blood was an aphrodisiac. Sleeping with Ruby had been a completely different set of circumstances. Sam had been in a dark place; devastated, frustrated and hanging onto life by a hair. Dean had been torn apart by hellhounds in front of him. He'd been dead, suffering in Hell, and Sam couldn't find a way to get him out. Ruby had come to him offering hope and promises of power. Sex with Ruby was just...a way to survive. She'd tricked him and roped him in and made him _need _her.

With Dean, it was more like instinct; like there was some dormant switch left untouched all his life, and Dean's blood had flipped the breaker on.

He just wondered if it had been the same for Dean.

Sam slipped out of his bed and grabbed a pair of sweat pants to throw on before heading out to look for his brother. The moment he began to wonder where he was, was the moment he realized that he could sense his presence. That was new. It was like a beacon; like a song playing in the distance somewhere, and Sam could see the sound waves leading to its source.

Knowing he could find Dean this way was kind of exhilarating, if he were to admit it to himself.

Dean was in the kitchen pouring a glass of blood into a flask. That's how Sam found him, and once he put two and two together, he realized what that must mean.

"If you're gonna be jonesing that easily, you should have a supply on hand," Dean told him, just as aware of Sam's presence as Sam was of his. He turned as he screwed the cap onto the flask, then handed it to his brother. "Training," he told him simply, meeting Sam's eyes. "Today we're gonna focus on how not to accidentally kill each other during combat." He gave him a small, calm smile until Sam had a hold of the flask, then he patted Sam's chest and walked past him.

Sam wasn't sure whether he should be disappointed or relieved.

.~*~.

They spent most of the day working on honing their supernatural abilities and figuring out how often Sam needed a hit—three hours if he was using his powers. Six if he wasn't—and the rest of it sparring. When it was late, Dean told him to get some sleep. Sam would've argued that he was way to wired for sleep, but the sparring had kinda turned him on, and he needed to go take care of that, so he went to his room without another word.

Neither of them had brought up what had happened that morning. Both of them assumed that that meant to leave it alone.

Dean sat in his own room now, lying on his bed and staring up at the ceiling. He was itching to go out and kill, regretting giving Crowley as much time as he had. It wasn't so much that the urge was unmanageable like before he woke up as a demon. It was more like...having to sit through those last few days before the end of school and the start of summer vacation. Ya know...for a normal kid.

He was eager and frustrated, maybe in more ways than just that. He could _smell_ Sam. All the way from his room. He knew what Sam was doing, and he could even picture it perfectly in his mind. Sam was jerking off.

Not that he'd never heard his brother jerking off before, but it was the first time he'd ever not thrown a pillow over his ears or put on his headphones out of respect for Sam's privacy. It was the first time he _wanted_ to hear it, listen to the soft sounds that were mere whispers in comparison to what he'd heard from him this morning. It was the first time he opened his fly and reached a hand into his boxers and got himself off right along with him...

.~*~.

Sam slept in the next day.

Sam slept in so late, Dean went to check his pulse twice.

The breakfast he'd made him had gone cold. Dean brought lunch up at two, and nudged Sam awake whether he liked it or not.

He set the plate with a turkey sandwich -extra lettuce, light mayo- on the side table beside a freshly-bled glass of his blood, then lightly slapped his brother's cheek. "Get up, Sam," he said as the younger man began to stir. "Ten hours till go-time." Sam groaned defiantly. "And uh...twelve hours since you had your last fix, genius."

"Time 's it?" Sam mumbled.

"After two in the afternoon."

"Had a sip earlier," he told him, turning onto his side facing away from his brother. "Le' me alone."

"Dude, you gotta eat something; keep your strength up for the fight," Dean told him.

"Don't need anything else, Dean," Sam replied. "Just the blood."

Before Sam knew what was happening, Dean had him upright and slammed with his back against the wall, Dean's arm heavy across his chest, and his eyes black as they bore into Sam's. "You ain't like me!" Dean growled angrily. "You ain't a demon! You're alive and you need to take care of yourself! You need to sleep, eat, and drink more than just blood, you hear me? None of this bullshit where you sit around wasting away and trying to tell me you're fine; that you don't fucking need my help!" Sam was wide awake now, fear instinctively prickling his nerves. "Two years you've made me do that, Sam," he continued, frustration clear in his voice. "Don't you fucking dare do this to me again!"

"Dean-"

"No!" Dean slammed him again. "No, Sam! You can't let the human part of you go to shit while the blood powers up the rest. 'Cause when we're done with this, you gotta be able to survive the aftermath. If you have any hope for bringing me back, I need that part of you." His anger was slowly transforming into something else. Pleading. Something... "You can't cure me the way you are right now, Sam. Not with my blood in you. You can't save me until you're saved. I need you to remember that, and I need you to let me help you because that...that's all I know how to do, Sammy... It's all I'm holding onto anymore that ain't about death and blood and revenge..."

Sam's struggling faded along with Dean's anger, and he kept his eyes on his brother's as they changed back to green. He could've pushed Dean off of him if he'd really wanted to. With Dean's blood, Sam was strong enough to move him. He'd hesitated initially because of Dean's tone. But it was Dean's pleas that stopped him from fighting at all.

"Okay, Dean," Sam told him calmly, still catching his breath from the dump of adrenaline. "I'm sorry, okay? I'll eat." Dean looked at him still, eyes darting back and forth between Sam's as if he was trying to detect a lie in them. "I swear, Dean. I swear, okay? I get it." He did push forward then, pushing Dean's arm away before pulling him into an embrace. "I'm sorry..."

"Hey, okay," Dean replied, suddenly a bit anxious as he pulled out of the hug. "Eat your lunch," he ordered, avoiding meeting Sam's eyes again as he backed away. "Then brush your damn teeth, 'cause your breath is rank."

"Well your blood is the last thing that was in it," Sam retorted. "So I guess I can blame that on you."

"I've been blamed for worse," he replied with a smirk as he met Sam's eyes for a moment. "Twenty minutes. Then meet me in the garage."

.~*~.

They barely thought about the garage. Since Charlie left, they liked to pretend it never happened, and in order to do that they had to forget about the existence of the garage. Sam was surprised how easy it was for Dean, especially with all the amazing vintage cars stored in it. But he never questioned his avoidance of the room. He wondered now, though, why Dean would ask him down here.

"Hey," Sam said as he descended the stairs into the garage, spotting Dean sitting on the hood of one of the cards.

Dean looked over at him and pushed to stand up. "Wanna show you something," Dean told him.

"You find a car that shoots missiles?" Sam asked with a grin as he reached the bottom.

"Nah," Dean shook his head, dismissing the joke. "Come stand over here," he motioned toward the middle of the long strip of floor. Sam complied, confused but trusting, and walked to stand where Dean told him. "Now...check this out." He lifted a hand and snapped.

Sam blinked, his brain momentarily confused at the sudden disappearance of his brother. "Dean?"

"Behind you," Dean's voice startled Sam to spin around.

Sam's eyes were wide as he realized what had just happened. "Dude, you just..."

"I know," he said with a grin. "Pretty cool, huh?"

"Kind of...uh...I dunno. That's... Not every demon can do that, Dean."

"Crowley can," Dean said with a shrug. "And he can zap other people around, too. Which is why I told you to come down here. I wanna see if I can zap you around with me. I figure if we can do that, we can bring the Impala down here for safe keeping. We can do this trip without havin' to worry about her gettin' dinged up. That, and it'll be faster. Like flying, except without the flying, because _fuck_ flying."

Sam let out a laugh, both amused and incredulous. "Okay... So...let's do this, then..." Dean stepped to him, a satisfied look on his face as he laid a hand on Sam's shoulder. It wasn't so much that he felt he'd been moved, but like the scenery around him had changed. It wasn't as if he'd never been zapped someplace before, but knowing that this was his brother...that this was _Dean _wielding that kind of power, was pretty exhilarating. Now, standing on the opposite side of the garage with Dean, Sam couldn't help but to let out an impressed laugh.

"This is gonna work just fine," Dean said with a grin.

"Dude, how do... How does it work?" Sam asked curiously. "I mean, what do you..."

"I dunno, Sam," Dean said with a shrug. "I just think about where I wanna go, and _want _it." They both thought about that for a moment. "How do you do _your_ stuff?" Dean asked. "I mean...when you're pulling the demon outta their meat suit, what do you think about?"

"Uh..." Sam searched the air ahead of him for a moment. "I...I don't exactly _see_ the thing," Sam explained. "But I can feel it. Like...like remember that Halloween party you took me to when we were kids, and they had that box you had to reach into to feel the bowl of eyeballs, but they were just peeled grapes? But you told me what they were before I did it... Anyway, yeah it's kinda like that. I know it's in there, and when I can feel it, I just start to imagine I'm winding it in. Like a rope and crank wheel in my head."

"Like you're fishing with your mind," Dean offered, amused at the thought.

"Yeah I guess so," Sam replied. "But killing them is different," he added, and he stared off somewhere ahead of himself as he spoke. "All I have to do is..._hate _it. I just make myself focus all of my anger, and imagine it catching fire...being struck by lighting...exploding...anything like that. And it's like a power surge, it's so fast. But I can slow it down if I want to. I can make it last longer. But I only ever did it once."

Dean knew what he was talking about, too. He'd witnessed it; the killing of Alastair. At the time, he'd been terrified, mortified by Sam's blood-binge. He hadn't known about it before that moment. It had scared him more than anything they'd ever come across before, because of what it meant...

But now Dean understood it. Everything Sam had been doing, it would've been okay. If he'd have supported him instead of scolded, instead of pushing him away throughout everything, he could've helped him to get it under control and use it for a greater purpose. And that's what he would do this time. They would work together.

Two monsters, ridding the world of the rest of the monsters...

.~*~.

"_San Mateo," Crowley told him. "They're not even hiding. Have at them. The rest are written down here," he said as he handed over a sheet of paper. "But if they somehow figure out you're coming, they may relocate."_

"_They ain't allowed home, now," Dean reminded him. "They had their chance. Don't let them come running to you..."_

_._

"Look at this! The new kid on the block tryin' to tell us to go to Hell," a demon sneered, grinning cockily with his buddies at Dean. They ignored Sam, only looking to the one holding the first-blade. "You think you can make us leave, Winchester? I'd like to see you try."

"You had your chance to leave," Dean replied calmly. "And you have your chance to fight, if you really wanna waste your time."

The demon growled, then charged him. Dean ran his blade through him without so much as a twitch in his facial features. The others tried to gang up on him while the blade was still in the meat suit.

"Sam," Dean yelled over their voices.

Sam stepped around him then, holding out his hand to hold the demons back, giving Dean the time he needed to dislodge the blade. They were confused for a moment. But one of them turned his gaze to the youngest Winchester and started to laugh.

"Sam Winchester's back on the bottle, is he?" the demon cackled. "Wait until everyone hears about this..." The meat suit threw its head back, black smoke pouring up out of it, but Sam redirected his attentions onto it, grabbing hold of it and forcing it back down.

"Dean!" Sam shouted a warning as the others, now freed from Sam's hold, began to charge Dean again.

Dean had seen them already, though, and was prepared. He sliced through the next one to come at him right as Sam was killing the demon who had tried to escape. He took the head off of the third that charged him, and Sam was finished killing off the rest of them by the time the severed head hit the floor.

"You good?" Dean asked his out of breath brother.

Sam pulled his flask from inside of his jacket, took a long drink, then nodded. "Yeah."

"South Bend next. Ready?"

"Ready." Dean's hand was on his shoulder, and they were in the dive bar run my demon scum within a beat of his heart.

There were fourteen of them this time. All of them knew exactly what had entered the moment it had. Pool cues were dropped, drinks abandoned, and they stood ready to fight.

"Let me take this one, Dean," Sam said.

"What?"

"Let me. It'll be faster." Dean didn't have time to argue, because Sam was already scrunching his face in angry concentration, and flashes like electric fire danced over each demon like sheet lightning. One by one, they dropped like flies in a bug zapper. All was quiet within a matter of seconds.

"The hell, Sam?" Dean growled, then turned just as Sam dizzily listed a bit to the side, a grin on one corner of his mouth. Dean steadied him with his free hand.

"Was faster," Sam told him breathlessly. "And less messy."

"And ruined all my fun!" Dean argued, only half angry. Dean let out a laugh as he pulled out his flask. "Friggin' share, Sam! You suck at sharing! Always suck at friggin' sharing...Let me have some too, got it?"

"Yeah, sure," Sam told him. "This thing is empty now anyway," he told him as he finished off the meager contents remaining in the flask. "We'll have to refill after the next one."

"Or you can stop showing off, and make it last longer," Dean scoffed.

"Where we going next?"

"Some cabin in Broken Arrow," Dean replied. "Then I think maybe stop for lunch. You gotta eat somethin'."

"Fine. Let's go," Sam said, standing tall as the blood took its affect.

Dean had to admit, Sam's bossiness -which usually just annoyed him- was actually kinda turning Dean on a little. And every time he drank his blood from that flask, he felt the phantom pull of Sam's tongue on his skin and actually _missed _it. But he shook the feeling off and grabbed Sam's shoulder a little more roughly than necessary.

.

"Oh come on, man!" the demon dude whined as he stood from his chair. "How the hell did you find us so fast, huh? It's friggin' day one!"

"Daddy sold you out," Dean said with a smirk. There were only four guys this time. Dean looked over at Sam. "We each get two," he told him. Sam nodded in agreement. "Five bucks says I kill my half first."

"Make it ten," Sam said. The demons were glancing at one another in a bit of worried confused. "I'll even go slow for ya."

Dean laughed before lunging forward toward his first victim.

Even though there were a lot less of them, these demons put up more of a fight. The first demon to reach Dean actually managed to knock the blade from his hand, giving the second one the advantage to grab hold of Dean around his neck from behind. This allowed the other guy to start throwing punches.

Sam was busy concentrating on holding one demon hard against the far wall, while slowly destroying the other. He'd never done this before; two tasks at the same time. At least not without gallons of blood in him. But with Dean's blood in him he felt powerful and whole and...it was nothing like the other times. Not really.

It was Dean's grunt that pulled Sam from his musings. He turned his head to see him being held back and taking punches to the gut, noticing the blade in the far corner on the floor where it must have fallen. The demon in front of him wielding what looked like a similar knife he'd gotten from Ruby, pulling his hand back and readying to slash with it.

"No!" Sam yelled. Competition be damned, he let go of the other demons in favor of knocking that one away, but not before the knife struck the flesh of Dean's neck. "Dean!"

"I'm fine, Sam!" he growled. "I've got this! Take yours!"

Sam looked just in time to see the demons he'd previously let go now charging him again. He wasn't wasting anymore time. He used what little was remaining of his juice to instantly destroy them, and turned back to watch just as Dean laid his palms on both demons' heads. There was a red, fiery glow and Sam had to look away, shielding his eyes for the moment, until it died down.

He wasn't sure what happened next. Only that he was suddenly feeling shaky, like he was going through withdrawals already, even though he'd had a hit just minutes ago. Granted it wasn't much, and he'd just used up all his mojo in a panic. But he found himself pushed up against the wall of the cabin by an angry big brother.

"The hell were you thinkin', huh?" Dean shouted. "I said to stick to your own! I _had_ them!"

"H-he had a d-demon knife...like R-Ruby's," Sam stuttered, embarrassed at the intensity of his need for more of Dean's blood.

"That can't kill me, Sam! I'm not like them!" Dean retorted, not missing how Sam's eyes kept flitting back and forth between his face and the cut on his neck, anxious, wanting. "_You _on the other hand are _not me! _You let your guard down, and you almost got your killed! _Then_ what the fuck am I supposed to do, huh? You die, I'm fuckin' screwed six ways from Sunday!"

"I'm sorry...I'm sorry, Dean...I'm...I'm just not used to n-not needing to...w-watch your back... I'm sorry..."

"Everything's fucked if you get yourself killed! Do you understand that?"

"Yes... Yeah, Dean...I'm sorry. Please...I'm sorry. I'll be more careful, I s-swear. Please... Dean, please..."

"What, Sam?" he growled through gritted teeth.

"I...I need it. Please... Please, Dean..."

Sam was squirming now, hands grabbing at Dean's jacket and the arm holding him against the wall. Dean simply loosened his hold on him, and that was sign enough for his brother. Sam pressed forward, his mouth seeking the bloody gash on his brother's throat.

The moment Sam's tongue swiped over the open wound, Dean realized that he'd been jonesing for this as badly as Sam had. Dean's hands planted on the wall behind his brother and he leaned over Sam's shoulder, allowing him the access he needed in order to continue. Sam's hand moved up Dean's chest and over his shoulder to the back of his neck, pulling him closer as he increased the suction. His other hand pulled on Dean's jacket still, pressing his hips into Dean's repeatedly.

Dean wasn't sure if Sam even knew he was doing it. He didn't care if he knew. Not right now.

Dean began to, perhaps involuntarily, push back against each thrust of Sam's hips. He couldn't help but to think about the morning before; how fucking turned on he'd been, and how crazy Sam made him. And he was feeling it again; thick, heavy, flowing like lava through his veins and he needed Sam. Needed to take him right then and there...whether he liked it or not.

Sam was lost in a world of pure bliss. It was something like the feeling you get with the first mouthful of the most delicious pie you've ever tasted, and what Sam was sure it must feel like to shoot heroin...or something like that because he'd never actually done that kind of thing before. All he knew was that he never wanted the feeling to stop.

Then suddenly the world was spinning. Or rather that's what he thought. Really, Dean had pulled him away and spun him around, pushing his chest against the wall. "That's enough," Dean growled in his ear. Sam tried to push away from the wall, but Dean just pushed him back again, and Sam could feel the hard outline of Dean's cock through his jeans against his ass. "Nu uh, little brother," he told him in a low voice. "Somethin' I need from _you_, now."

Sam couldn't see him, but he knew Dean's eyes were black right now. He could feel it. He stopped struggling when he heard the rustle of Dean's jeans opening, and didn't stop him when he yanked Sam's down to his thighs, boxers with them. He hadn't heard Dean spit, but his fingers were wet when they sought out his entrance, and Sam knew that he was using his blood. A whine escaped his throat as Dean's fingers unceremoniously shoved their way into him.

And fuck, Dean knew... He knew Sam had been doing more than jerking off the night before, because Sam's ass was already accommodating his two fingers, and there was still a slick along the walls when he crooked his middle finger. Sam had finger-fucked himself the night he thought he was just mutually jacking off with him.

He withdrew his fingers, Sam's whine vibrating through to his brother's chest, and he pressed a hand back over his bloody wound and slicked his cock with the mess of it before lining his cock up against his brother's entrance. Sam gasped, and somewhere in the back of Dean's mind he knew that he should do more, stretch him more thoroughly, but the rest of him was too impatient for that. He needed to be inside of him. Now.

He pushed inside without hesitation, squashing down whatever good little voice was yelling in the background, and despite the cry of obvious discomfort from the recipient. He closed his eyes, reveling in the feel of his brother squeezing down around him.

Sam was seeing white. The sudden, unexpected level of pain that shot through him clouding his thoughts for a few moments before he forced himself to relax and accept what was happening. He'd wanted this. Wanted Dean like this. Wanted him inside. The pain would fade, he knew that much, and the sooner he let himself relax, the faster that would come.

Sam's ass pressed out, his fingers splaying on the wall just inside of Dean's, and Dean took that as an invitation to do what he wanted. He pulled partway out and slammed back in, a strangled shout coming from his brother in which he decidedly interpreted as pleasure. So he did it again, harder, faster, and began fucking him in earnest.

The pain wasn't fading. But Sam tried to focus on the pleasure of it; the way the head of Dean's cock hit his prostate with every shove before it slid the rest of the way in. Sam's forehead pressed into the wall, steadying himself as much as trying to divert the pain.

"Yeah," Dean grunted with his thrusts. "Fuckin' take it..."

Sam was whining, moaning, grunting through every move Dean made, which only urged Dean on. He fucked into him like he was on a mission, and really he was. He wanted to fill him up, fuck the come out of him until there was nothing left to release. And if the sudden increase in the volume of Sam's moans were any indication, it wouldn't be long from now.

Dean moved a hand from the wall and slid it down to grab a hold of Sam's hard-as-nails, leaking cock, and stroked once, twice, and Sam was screaming, writhing under him as he came apart, come splashing into the wall in front of them. It was enough to pull Dean over with him, filling him just like he'd wanted to, and kept going, kept pushing in and letting Sam's squeeze every last drop out of him...

When Sam opened his eyes, he was in his bed back at the bunker. The sudden change in location and equilibrium made his body involuntarily jerk, as though trying to stop himself from falling. For a few moments he thought maybe he had just dreamed it. But he was in his clothes still, bloody from their battles, and he could still feel the phantom of Dean's cock in his ass; come trying to escape the abused hole. His mouth, when he wiped a hand over it, was still bloody from where he had drank his fill from his brother.

So where was he now?

Dean stood in front of the mirror in one of the bunker's bathrooms. Stripped of his clothes, he looked at himself in the reflection. The wound on his neck was healed, but his skin still bloody. His cock sheathed in his own blood and come, and probably Sam's blood, too, and it made him sick that he wasn't sick about it. He'd liked it. He'd liked hurting Sam like that and watching him come despite it. He liked it more than anything.

Dean looked at his eyes in the mirror, willing the black to hide away again so that he could see his human eyes. Well, the ones that _looked_ like his human eyes. He wasn't sure if he could call anything about himself human anymore. No matter how much he craved to let go of it all, he needed to force himself to cling to some part of humanity. He needed to hold on, or this could all turn ugly fast. Because if there was nothing left to save, Sam might leave. No matter what he'd said before, Sam might run if he wasn't careful.

Dean needed to hold on to something, anything, to keep himself from giving in...

TBC...

**AN: Again, please give me a week! I'll probably get more up before then, but it's possible I'm gonna end up busy with something. lol**


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Kind of a fluffy, shmoopy, smutty chapter... I needed for Dean to cross a line last chapter. I needed Dean to get a little dark with Sam because there's never truly a line until you've crossed it, even just a little, so that you could see that there definitely is one. So this is the sorta making-up-for chapter I guess? And then kind of a little twist at the end hehe. Unedited. Forgive any typos. **

**.~*~.**

"Dean?"

Dean jumped at the sudden, unexpected presence of his brother at the doorway to the bathroom. He'd just showered and was still dripping wet as he scrambled for a towel to throw around his waist. The room was still a bit steamy. "You should go eat something," Dean replied, his gaze steering clear of his brother.

"Dean, why are we back here?" Sam asked, taking a step further into the room. "I thought you said we would break to eat, then keep going."

"We are," Dean retorted flatly. "What's it matter if you eat here?"

Sam's brows furrowed and he stepped closer.

"You should go eat, Sam," Dean said, stepping backward away from him, still dodging his eyes.

"What's wrong?" Sam asked, concerned.

"Nothing's wrong," Dean replied with a shake of his head. "Just you need to eat, okay? And you should...probably grab a shower, too..."

"I think a shower would kinda be a waste of time," Sam replied with a raised brow. "We're just gonna get bloody again."

"That's not what I meant..."

"Are you..." Sam stopped a moment, narrowing his eyes and he considered what he was about to ask. "Are you freaking out about what happened?"

"Shut up," Dean mumbled. "Go eat something, damnit..."

"You are!" Sam said with an incredulous laugh. "I can't believe it..."

"I said shut up, Sam," Dean snarled.

"You make a terrible demon, dude."

"Leave me alone," Dean whined, turning away to grab his tee shirt from the towel rack.

"No way," Sam said with a grin, shaking his head. "You don't get to freak out, Dean. Not about sex."

"It was sex with _you_," Dean replied, turning to face him now, meeting his eyes. "Sex with my _brother_."

"So what?" Sam shrugged. "You're afraid I'm gonna...have your disfigured, inbred love-child?"

"You're an asshole," Dean sighed, shaking out the shirt as he prepared to put it on.

"No, I'm not," Sam said, grabbing hold of one of Dean's wrists.

"Sammy..." his wet eyes met Sam's, a desperation in them that Sam knew to mean something along the lines of it being too hard for him. "I don't want you to hate me..."

"I can't," Sam replied, shaking his head. "I can't hate you, Dean. I love you too much for that."

"I hurt you."

"I've had worse," Sam countered, shrugging a shoulder.

"I don't even know what we're doing."

"We're saving the world. And we're celebrating our victories in the most awesome way possible," he said with a smirk.

"I can't keep doing this to you," Dean said as he tried to tug his arm free.

But Sam just renewed his grip and pulled him closer. "What if I _want _you to keep doing it?" he asked.

Dean shook his head as he stared into his brother's eyes. "It has to be the blood," he told him quietly. "It's makin' you want things you don't really want, Sam..."

"No," Sam said, shaking his head. "You think this is my first demon-blood rodeo? I know how the blood affects me, Dean. It doesn't give me false feelings."

"You didn't want this before," Dean argued.

"I didn't _know_ I wanted this before," Sam replied without hesitation. "But I've always loved you, Dean. I swear to that. I've never loved _anyone_ like I love you."

"You can't... I'm a demon, Sam, you're not supposed to love that."

"You're still here," Sam replied wetly. "You're still in there and I still love you. No matter what, that'll never change." Dean looked away and down, unwilling to believe the statement. "Do you still love me?" he asked, voice cracking involuntarily at the weight of the question.

Dean's eyes shot to Sam's. "'Course I do, Sammy. I never stopped."

"Demons aren't capable of love."

"But I _do, _Sam_!_" Dean argued, grabbing a fistful of Sam's shirt in frustration.

"And you gotta trust me when I say that I love you, too," Sam told him, placing a hand on the side of Dean's neck comfortingly.

Dean's eyes searched Sam's, wide and worried and something else Sam couldn't quite read. "I just..." Dean started, voice balancing somewhere in the middle of low and whispering. "I just feel like...like I'm doing something wrong," he told him. "Like I'm ruining you." Sam shook his head in denial. "But you're the only thing—no, not the only thing..." he said, shaking his head as he tried to find the right words. "Sammy, you're _everything_. You're everything that's still holding me here, and everything I'm holding on _for_. I don't wanna screw that up..."

"You're not screwing anything up," Sam told him, then pulled his head toward his, pressing his lips to his brother's. "I love you," he told him between kisses. "And I want this. Even when we're finished with all of this. Even when we're back to being _us_, I want this. And a house. And a yard. And dogs you won't let in the car..." each sentence separated by another kiss.

Dean let out a breathless, wet laugh at Sam's words, and finally began kissing him back.

Dean's skin was warm on Sam's. It was the first he'd felt it that way, he realized. He knew it was because of the hot shower his brother had just taken, but it made it seem more real; like he was with _Dean _and not the cold-blooded demon he'd become. That said, Sam would take him however he could get him.

Dean's eyes closed, allowing him to feel and smell and taste without distraction. He kissed Sam deeply, his hands running through and gripping his brother's hair as they moved. He felt Sam stripping his shirts free, shucking out of his jeans before pulling away the towel that Dean had tied around his own waist.

"Want you, Dean," Sam told him breathlessly.

Dean was shaking his head, pulling away. "I hurt you."

"I'm fine," he insisted.

"Want you to take _me_, this time," Dean told him.

Sam pulled away to look him in the eyes. "You serious?" Sam asked. Dean nodded. "Bedroom," Sam said as he tucked his face into the crook of his brother's neck, nipping lightly on the skin there.

"Huh?" Dean questioned in a bit of a daze.

"Get us to the bedroom, Dean," he told him again, wrapping his arms around him and pressing their bodies together. Dean needed no further explanation, and zapped them up to his room. Sam never flinched.

Dean found himself swooped up and roughly laid down on his back on the bed, Sam pressing kisses down his neck, shoulder, chest... Part of him wondered when he'd go for the knife and slice him somewhere to drink again. So when Sam moved off of him and reached for the side table drawer, that's what he assumed he was getting. He held his arm out for him, and when Sam crawled back over him, he looked confused at it.

"What're you doing?" Sam asked.

"I thought..." Dean started, then spotted the tube of lube in his brother's hand.

Realization came over Sam. "I told you, Dean...it's not the blood." He looked at Dean's searching eyes for a few moments longer, then snapped open the tube, gathering some of its contents on his first two fingers. His mouth was back on Dean's before his fingertips began circling Dean's entrance.

"Sam," Dean pushed him away a bit to look at him. "You don't gotta do that. Just...take me like I took you." Sam shook his head. "Just fuck me, Sam. You don't have to prep me."

"That's not how I work," Sam said, shaking his head again.

"Man, c'mon-"

"This isn't a game, Dean. This isn't about...letting me have a free punch, okay? This is about me showing you that I love you...and that I wanna make you feel good. So you may as well just shut up and deal with it." Dean looked at him furrowed brows, yet widened eyes that ended up slipping closed again when Sam's fingers resumed their movements.

Dean felt Sam move over him, slipping down his body until he felt his breath on his hip. Dean opened his eyes and looked down at Sam just before Sam's eyes looked up at him. He smiled, and then licked a stripe up the underside of Dean's swiftly-hardening cock. Then he sucked him into his hot, wet mouth at the same time he pressed his fingers into Dean's tight little hole.

"Oh fuck!" Dean cried out, neck arching as he threw his head back against the pillow. His hands gripped the sheets on either side of him as his legs splayed even farther apart.

Pre-come flooded Sam's mouth, and he moaned when the taste hit his tongue. It was sweet. Almost as sweet as Dean's blood, and Sam wanted more of it. He began sucking in earnest, bobbing his head up and down as he blindly added more lube to his fingers. Sam pressed back in with three, taking Dean's cock into his mouth as far as he could before his air was cut off. He pulled off, coughing.

"Shit, Sammy, careful!" Dean told him, voice cracking involuntarily.

"'m fine," Sam replied, clearing his throat. "Just...this is kinda my first time doing this."

"Coulda fuckin' fooled me," Dean replied in a rush out of breath.

Sam watched his brother squirm, trying to press down onto Sam's fingers since he'd stopped moving them. He grinned down at him.

"What?" Dean questioned defensively.

"You really like this," Sam replied.

"Fuck you."

"Thought you said it was _my_ turn," Sam replied, leaning down over him again, his lips hovering just over Dean's.

"Yeah well...you better get on with it before I change my mind."

Sam let out a breathy laugh. "Somehow, I don't think that's gonna happen," he said before his mouth was on Dean's, fingers pressing in and crooking. Dean moaned a curse, body spasming beneath his brother's, and Sam pulled away to look at him again. "Yeah, you're not gonna change your mind."

"Shut the fuck up and fuck me already," Dean said through gritted teeth.

"Nuh uh," Sam told him, shaking his head. "Gonna suck you off, first," he said before kissing him again. "You taste so fucking good, Dean. 's like everything inside you is made for me to taste."

Dean would've argued, but the thought of Sam's mouth back on him again sounded like a pretty fair deal. And Sam wasted no time sliding back down his body and taking Dean's cock back into his mouth, this time using his free hand to hold the base where he couldn't quite take it in all the way.

Sam worked him over, sucking as much of him as he could manage, and completing the motion with his hand like he'd had girlfriends do for him. He'd get better, eventually. With practice, he'd learn how to deep-throat his brother's cock. Sam could do anything he put his mind to...

"Christ, Sam!" Dean shouted when Sam's fingertips pressed firmly into Dean's prostate. Sam was rewarded with another burst of sweet flavor on his tongue. He moaned as he swallowed it down. He picked up his speed, then; his patience growing thin. Sam aimed his fingertips against Dean's prostate and began tapping against it rhythmically, mimicking what his cock would be doing after this was done. Dean's moans grew in strength, back arching off of the mattress as Sam sucked him down. His hands left the sheets in favor of burrowing themselves in his little brother's hair, tightening over fists full of it, unable to make a coherent thought as to what to do with them otherwise. He felt himself arriving quickly at the end, and the intensity behind it had him panicking at some level. "Sam...Sammy..." he breathed, trying to warn his brother. "Fuck! Sam! Oh...god!" he shouted as he came hard, eyes slammed closed and head thrown back, unable to control how his hips pressed up off of the mattress.

Sam allowed his hand to finish working Dean's cock, his mouth a steady suction on its head as he drank down everything Dean had to give him. The fingers he still had buried inside of his brother were now working to stretch him; his own neglected cock eager to be in their place.

Once he'd sucked the last drop of come out of him, Sam kept his hand working Dean's cock. His fingers slipped out of Dean's stretched hole and he slicked his own cock with the abundant amount of lube that covered his hand still. Then he used it to balance himself as he moved back up to Dean's mouth, his brother still panting through the aftershocks of the intense orgasm. Sam pressed his mouth to Dean's, allowing his tongue to slip inside and run over Dean's, then pulled back.

"See how good you taste?" Sam told him, voice a little rough.

Dean opened his eyes and looked at him. "Tastes like jizz, dude. I dunno what you're talkin' about."

Sam narrowed his eyes for a moment. "It tastes like...like sweetened coffee or something," he countered. "I mean...not that exactly, but..."

"Dude, I dunno what the hell crack-like affect my blood is having on you, but it does not taste any different than any other come."

"How do you even know what come tastes like?" Sam questioned.

Dean's eyes shifted for a millisecond before responding. "Licked yours off my hand before I got in the shower," he replied. "Now...you gonna fuck me, or what?"

Sam made a mental note to pester him further later. He scooped Dean's legs up under each knee, pushing them forward, lining the head of his cock up to Dean's well-lubed hole, then put his hands down to the mattress and allowed the weight of Dean's legs to be held at the crooks of Sam's elbows. He pressed his hips forward, making sure he was lined up right as he pushed in slowly. Then he looked to Dean's eyes for any sign of discomfort as he continued. Quickly, however, the feeling of Dean's tight hole consuming his hard length overwhelmed him for a moment, and he eyes slipped closed.

"Fuck, Dean..." he said, ducking his head into his brother's neck. "So fucking tight...god..."

Dean's breath was caught in his throat, hindering him from being able to verbally respond but with short huffs of exhales as he adjusted to the feel of Sam entering him. He was impatient, though, still, and his heels dug into his brother's ass, forcing him to enter all the way.

"Oh fuck..." Sam said, stealing the words right out of Dean's mouth. "You fucker," Sam pulled partway out and slammed back in, finally pulling a shout out of his brother. "Always so damn impatient," he said as he slammed into him again.

"_I'm _impatient?" Dean said, finally finding his voice again. "If anyone's impatient, it's you, bitch."

Sam let out a breathy laugh. He pulled out of Dean, then repositioned himself to sit back on his haunches, yanking Dean up into his lap. "I'll show you impatient," he said, before plunging back into his brother.

"Sonofabitch!" Dean shouted through gritted teeth as Sam's cock rammed into his prostate on its way in.

Sam reveled in the way Dean reacted to what he was doing to him; his expression, the noises coming from his throat, the way his body jerked under Sam's administrations... "Like it this way, don't you," Sam grunted through his heavy breaths as he worked. "Like it when it's rough?" Dean clamped his mouth closed, refusing to answer, only meeting his brother's eyes. "Some day, Dean...when we're back to normal...when everything's done and it's just us again...I'm gonna spend an entire day...gonna take my time on you...and you're gonna love that, too..." Dean writhed before Sam, pushing himself up as Sam pounded into him. "But don't worry," Sam continued. "I'll give you what you want this time."

Dean pulled himself up the rest of the way by grabbing hold of the back of Sam's neck. He pressed his forehead into Sam's and rode him just as hard as Sam was fucking up into him. Dean's other hand slid up into his brother's hair and gripped onto it, like it was made just for that purpose. Then Sam's hand—the one that wasn't holding onto Dean's hip—grabbed the back of Dean's neck.

"You know the best part though?" Sam asked, almost whispering. "The thing that's got me on the edge?" He moved his mouth to Dean's ear. "I can still feel you in me..."

Dean was gone after that, shouts of incoherent gibberish pouring from his mouth, and spilling whatever meager amount of come still left in him on Sam's belly.

"Oh...god..." Sam's arms wrapped tightly around his brother, pulling him hard against him as Dean's hole clenched so hard around him. "Dean! Oh fuck..." his voice cracked as he cried out against Dean's neck, and he emptied out into him...

Something crashed to the floor in the direction of the door, suddenly, and both brothers turned their heads toward the noise. To their amazement, Castiel stood there at the door to the room, turning his head away and covering his eyes, a blush washing over what skin they could see.

"I...I shouldn't have barged in unannounced..."

TBC

**AN: Again, thanks for your patience! I'm updating as quickly as I can manage. :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Again, sorry for the wait. There's no sexy-time in this chapter (sorry, guys). **

**AN2: Many thanks to all the reviewers! I wish my email notifs would work...**

**AN3: Please, as usual, give me up to a week to get the next chapter up! Thanks for your patience :)**

**.~*~.**

"Cas!"

The brothers scrambled to untangle from each other and grab something to cover up with. Since Sam was still dressed, aside from his quickly deflating cock which he hurriedly tucked back into his pants, he was the first to turn to him, blindly tossing a tee and boxers that had been sitting on top of the dresser, toward Dean.

"I'm sorry," Castiel repeated, still not looking back over at them. "I did not anticipate that you would be in such a...compromising position when I arrived."

"Cas..."

"I was informed that Dean had been killed," the angel continued. "Though I am surely and overwhelmingly happy that he is alive, I most certainly don't believe I would have expressed my relief in quite the same way as you have..."

"It...it's not like that," Sam told him, swallowing against a sudden rush of embarrassment and shame. "Um..." he quickly tried to change the subject.

"I thought you were locked in Heaven's jail," Dean said for him.

"I was," the angel replied, turning slightly back toward them. "I guess I was misinformed."

"No, you weren't," Dean told him.

Cas looked at him them, Dean now dressed a bit. "How are you alive?" he asked with narrowed eyes, but then his face dawned realization. "Oh god," his shoulders slumped. "You..."

Sam watched the knowing expression on the angel's face, and came to a realization of his own. "You knew this could happen?" he asked incredulously.

Cas looked to Sam. "I know what happened to Cain," he replied. "I believed that there was a possibility that it could also happen to Dean, which is why I told you to watch out for him."

"You're blaming _me _for this?" Sam's voice rose.

"Hey, just calm down, okay?" Dean said, holding a hand up.

"I only ever wanted him to be able to defeat our enemies," Castiel told him. "I thought I'd be able to heal him from any injuries during battle; prevent this from happening."

"But you couldn't have," Sam said. "You used the last of your grace to heal Gadreel. You should've told me _then_."

"If that's true," Dean said, stepping forward a bit, "How the hell did you get out of Heaven and get here?"

"Hannah brought me," Castiel told Dean.

"Here?" Sam's eyes widened.

"No," he replied, shaking his head. "There is no need to reveal the location of this bunker to anyone else. I had her bring me to the place Metatron claimed to have killed Dean. When I saw...the amount of blood on the floor, I knew that he hadn't lied to me." Cas seemed disturbed by the memory. "I took several buses that eventually brought me here. It took...several days. Along my journey I began to hear word of a Winchester deal; something about...giving demons an ultimatum to return to Hell or be slaughtered."

"You heard?" Dean asked with a raised brow. "Who or what did you hear that from?" Castiel looked away. "Cas?"

"I may have...taken a side trip to gather some items to summon Crowley," the angel admitted.

"You _what_?" Dean growled.

"He was very upset that I summoned him," Cas told him. "He told me that he was a dead man if 'Winchester' found out he'd been topside without permission. My assumption at the time was that Sam had...perhaps been on a mission of extreme vengeance after your death. I'd been confused by Crowley's fear, but I can see now why he was apprehensive."

"Did he tell you we plan on killing any earthbound angels we come across too?" Sam asked.

"I was hoping that I would be exempt from that," Castiel replied.

Sam wanted to continue being mad at him, readdress the fact that he'd allowed this to happen to Dean. But suddenly the angel's face lost its color, his eyes rolling back in his head, and Sam found himself stepping forward as Castiel began to collapse. "Hey hey hey, Cas!" Sam said as he caught him.

Dean was quickly on his other side, helping to hold the angel upright. "What the hell is wrong with him?" Dean asked.

"I have no idea," Sam replied. "We uh... We should lay him down. Maybe not in...this bed," he said, giving his brother a slight grimace.

Dean shrugged in acknowledgment. "I'll get him to my room," he said. "Go get him some water or something, huh?" Sam nodded, then tried not to feel so weird about the fact that Dean disappeared into thin air with the angel.

Sam made quick work of getting to the kitchen, washing his hands, and grabbing a water bottle before heading back up toward Dean's room. He slowed, however, when he heard Dean talking softly.

"Cas...what's wrong with you, man?"

"It's the grace," the angel weakly replied. "The grace I stole...there is just barely enough to keep me alive. It's why I...had Hannah bring me here. I was hoping...that Sam might be able to...assist me in tracking mine down."

"Yours? I thought Metatron used it for the spell."

"He did," Cas replied. "However, it wasn't necessary to deplete it. It still exists, and he gave it to another angel, giving him...the mission to conceal it from me at all costs."

"How do you know this?"

"Hannah was...one of the few Metatron confided in...with some things. She knew the name of the angel who has my grace. His name is...Nathanael. He has not...returned to Heaven, so he must still be following his orders blindly." His discussion was cut off by a sudden fit of coughing.

Dean seemed to be comforting him, as far as Sam could hear. "Hey, hey...it's gonna be okay. We'll find him, Cas. You'll be okay."

"You..." he coughed again. "You are...still you."

"That's what Sam says, too," Dean replied. "Do you uh... Angels can...see a demon's true form. Can you..."

Sam held his breath outside the door, a strange feeling filling his chest as he awaited the reply.

"Without any grace, I'm not in a position to answer that," the angel replied. "However...you became this way differently than most demons. A demon's true form...is marred and ugly, battered and scarred and burned from the pits of Hell. You may have...been tortured there before, but you were healed when I...brought you back, Dean. Your...compassion...speaks volumes for what's still...present of your humanity." Once more, he was cut off by his own coughing, and Sam realized he should bring in the water.

He cleared his throat as he entered. "Everything okay?" he asked.

"No," Dean said as he stood and turned to face his brother. "Cas is gonna die unless we find him some grace."

"My grace will be...next to impossible to find," Castiel interjected. "Nathanael has always been a protector of hidden things. He will be difficult to locate."

"So we'll get you some other grace to hold you over," Dean said without looking back at him.

"No, Dean," the angel pleaded.

Dean did turn around then, brows furrowed. "You're gonna die if you don't get somethin' soon."

"The grace I stole...has brought me nothing but shame," the angel told him, sadness clear in his eyes. "I took it...so that I could help you."

"It kept you alive, and if you hadn't taken it you would've been killed," Sam reasoned.

"We need you, Cas," Dean added. "Now more than ever."

Castiel shook his head. "I don't understand. What could you...possibly need me for now?"

"We're not gonna let you just die, Cas," Sam told him incredulously.

"And the plan is to waste any angel that's still down here still culting it up for Metatron," Dean told him. "Grace is gonna go to waste anyway, so you may as well use it to keep breathin' until we find yours."

"Look," Sam said, stepping forward and sitting down on the side of the bed. "We have a plan, okay? We wipe out all the demons and rebel angels. But we'll give the angels a choice," he said before Cas could protest. "They can help us find Nathanael, they can go back to Heaven and face whatever charges you might have for them, or they can donate their grace."

"And by donate, we mean with or without their expressed permission," Dean added.

"Once we get you well enough," Sam continued, "We find a way to get rid of the Mark of Cain, and then I cure Dean. Way I see it, if we have your help this'll go a lot smoother. Especially since..." Sam stopped, hesitant to confess to the angel what he'd been doing.

"We ain't gotta do this right now, Sam," Dean offered.

"No, it's... No secrets this time," Sam replied. "I'm not gonna do this and keep it from Cas. He deserves to know."

"To know what?" the angel asked, tilting his head in curiosity.

"Sam needed to have a good defense out there for this fight," Dean started for him. "I might have needed a modification, but Sam's had a secret weapon his whole life."

The angel thought for a moment, and then met Sam's eyes. "Demon blood," he surmised.

"I've never detoxed off of it naturally," Sam told him. "Not completely. There's always been some kind of...divine intervention. So I'm gonna need your help because I have no idea if I'll survive it without you there to help."

Dean's gut churned as he listened to his brother convey the very fears he'd had himself about this whole thing. "And he's gotta be clean before he can cure me," he added. "So yeah, Cas, we need you. If that's what you need to hear in order to have the will to survive, then there you go."

The angel grew quiet in thought right up until he began coughing again, and Sam reached out to help him sit up, pushing some pillows behind his back. "Here, drink some of this," he told him, handing him the bottle of water. Castiel complied, taking a sip of the water and then immediately began to cough harder. Sam took the bottle from him as the angel struggled. His hand found Cas's shoulder, as if to lend some strength. When Castiel's hand came away from his mouth, Sam saw the blood on it. His eyes widened. "Cas...how long do you have?" he asked worriedly.

"I am uncertain," he replied. "I've never...died like this before. Others I've only heard about. If the grace within me attempts to heal whatever is breaking down, it could be just a matter of days. If that long..."

Sam pushed to stand. "Dean, get dressed," he said without looking away from the angel. "Meet me down in the map room..."

.~*~.

Dean dressed quickly and headed down to Sam, right after forcing a sandwich in his younger brother's hands. "Talk and eat," he'd told him. Sam begrudgingly complied.

"We've got angel radar," Sam reminded him as he looked over the large console. "Kevin shut it down because it went crazy after the fall, but now it should be okay. Less for it to track."

"Awesome. So we kinda have a list for these bastards, too."

"Yeah, hopefully," Sam said, then found the plug that Kevin had pulled out, and plugged it back in. The console came to life, booting up with a whirring sound before little red lights began popping up across the board. "I figure we work our way out from the middle," Sam suggested. "Closest one is first. Maybe we'll get lucky on the first try."

"Yeah right, 'cause that happens to us all the time," Dean scoffed. "All right. Prairie Village. Heh...almost a pun," he said with a smirk. "Hurry and finish your sandwich so we can go."

.~*~.

Prairie Village turned out to be just as small as they'd imagined. It wasn't hard to figure out why they'd never been there, even with it being less than an hour's drive from Lawrence. The problem was that they weren't sure exactly where the angel was. It wasn't the same as before; the demons were easy to spot and they'd had specific directions on where to find them. This, however, was just a small town with no indication of where within it the angel was.

So they'd started walking, looking for something—anything—that might lead them to the right place. Then Dean's ears started ringing, eyes closing at the strange sensation that threw him off balance for a moment, Sam worriedly grabbing onto him to keep him upright.

"Dude, what is it?" Sam asked. "What's wrong?" His hands went to each side of Dean's neck as he searched his face.

"I...something weird," Dean replied. The ringing back off a little, enough that he was able to realize that it was coming from something and not just in his head. He turned his head to the left. The sound, whatever it was, was coming from the house across the street. "There," he said. "Something is there."

"What?"

"Just trust me, Sam. There's something in there."

Sam followed when Dean began walking across toward the house. He pressed a hand over his jacket where an angel blade was stashed. Then he had a realization. "Hey!" he said as he put a hand on Dean's shoulder to slow him down. "Let's just uh...knock first, okay?"

"Why?"

"Because we don't even know that this is the right place," Sam argued. "And remember we're supposed to talk to them first."

"And what if he bolts, huh?" Dean questioned. "What if he knows where Nathanael is and bolts to give him a heads-up that we're lookin' for him?"

"I don't think they can bolt. Unless they return to Heaven, I don't think they've got their full mojo back. Their wings are still clipped."

"And if you're wrong?"

"I...well, even if I'm wrong, busting in there isn't gonna stop him from bolting. Our best bet is to try and talk some reason into him."

Dean let out a laugh at that. "Oh yeah, man. Reasoning has always worked wonders with angels."

"It's a different game now," Sam reminded him.

Dean looked at him for a moment. "Fine," he replied. "Let's do this."

They approached the door, and as Sam raised his hand to knock, the door opened. An older gentleman stood there in the entryway looking as though he'd expected their arrival. "I expected you twenty minutes ago," he said. "My cable's been out for two days. You sure do take your time." He moved away to give them room to enter.

Sam glanced to Dean for a moment, wondering if they'd made the wrong call, but the look on Dean's face said otherwise. Dean was the first to move, entering the house as Sam followed behind.

"The living room is at the back of the house," the man told them. "I'll be right in."

They moved to the back of the house, Sam grabbing Dean's arm once they were by the television set. "Dude, what?" Sam whispered.

"I can see it," Dean told him. "I can see that he's an angel. His eyes and everything...they glow."

"Okay," Sam replied, trying to keep his features neutral. "So now what?"

"You're not the cable guys, are you," the man said as he entered the room. His voice seemed accepting and calm.

"We're here to make you an offer," Dean told him.

"An offer, huh?" he replied with a small grin. "What's that? Return to Heaven or die? Is that what you're doing? You're the Winchesters, aren't you? We know all about you two..."

"Oh really?" Dean replied a bit cockily.

"There's a third option, actually," Sam interjected, taking a step forward. "We need help finding someone."

"Who?"

"We'll tell you that only if you accept," Dean replied.

"How do you know I'll even have the first clue about how to find this someone?"

"We don't," Sam replied. "But if you don't, then the option is void."

"And if I do, if I help you to find what you're looking for, what do I get in return?" the angel asked.

"What is it that you want?" Dean asked. "To stay here and watch cable for eternity? Sorry, pal, but we met an angel who sat around entertaining himself with stories for centuries. He turned out to be a giant pain in my ass."

The angel grinned. "We're not all like Metatron," he told them. "Some of us just don't want anything to do with it. Some of us had no part in the war. We chose to stay out of it, and now that it's over, we still want no part of it. Being an angel with no direction, no order, it's too much. Heaven is no longer fulfilling."

"Save your sob story for someone who gives a damn," Dean said gruffly.

"You have a deal," Sam said, ignoring when Dean looked at him incredulously. "You help us find who we're looking for, and you can stay here."

"Fine. Who do you want to find?" the angel asked.

"Nathanael."

The angel laughed. "You want me to help you find the master of hide and seek? You must be joking."

"There's gotta be a way to find him," Sam countered. "You have to know some way."

"Maybe I do," the angel said with a shrug. "But I can't for the life of me figure out why I should help you."

"Because you don't want back in Heaven," Dean replied. "And you don't wanna die."

"How exactly are the two of you going to make me do a damned thing?" the angel asked, eyes narrowed with anger.

"Trust me, pal, you do not wanna figure it out," Dean told him.

The angel suddenly swung out his hand, sending Dean into the wall and pinning him there. But then he looked to Sam in confusion.

"Yeah, that ain't gonna work on me," Sam told him, pulling the angel blade and forcing the angel backward into a recliner, the blade at his throat. "Let him go," he ordered.

"What are you?" the angel asked angrily as he released his hold on Dean.

"Somethin' you don't wanna mess with," Dean replied for him. "Now tell us what we wanna know."

"You're just gonna kill me either way," the angel replied.

"No," Sam countered. "Give us a name, and you get to stay here."

The angel eyed the two of them, Dean now standing beside his brother with the First Blade in his hand. He closed his eyes and let out a sigh. "There is an angel who was given the gift to be able to find Nathanael, in case he ever went rogue. Someone needed to be able to find him."

"A name," Dean repeated.

"Chamuel," he told him.

"Where is he?" Sam asked.

"I don't know," the angel replied, and Sam pressed the blade harder against the angel's throat. "I don't know where he is!" he repeated. "But he can be summoned. That's all I know. I swear to it. Now...you'll let me stay, as you promised..."

"Yeah," Sam replied. "We'll let you stay. But there's something else we need from you." Sam pulled a small, glass vial from his jacket. The angel's eyes widened...

TBC...


	6. Chapter 6

"We didn't kill him, Cas," Sam assured the angel. "He _wanted_ to stay."

"Basically said he didn't wanna be an angel anymore," Dean added. "He wasn't gonna go back up the Heaven. Hell, the guy was sitting around watching cable. Or tryin' to, anyway. He don't need angel mojo for that."

"You need to take it," Sam told him. "You're gonna die without something."

"Exactly. So just take it and use your time to figure out how to summon Chamuel. And in the meantime, Sam and I are gonna go take care of the bloody side of the agenda. We'll be back at dark; Sam's gotta sleep at some point. Don't start any summoning spells without us."

With that, Dean and Sam were gone, and Castiel was left holding the vial of...procured grace.

The angel pondered the situation. Dean had sacrificed his humanity for their cause, even if it hadn't been entirely knowingly, and even if it was a temporary thing. Sam...well, he had crawled right back into the fast, deadly lane of drinking demon blood, all for the sake of helping his brother to rid the world of whatever evil they could while they had the opportunity.

Who was Castiel to not take this gift of more time? He could help them, too, and get his own grace back in the process. Who was he to turn down this gift, when he himself had done this very thing in order to survive in the past?

So, as much as he was ashamed to do it, Castiel accepted the grace and began his mission to acquire the items needed to summon Chamuel. The list wasn't very extensive, but the items were rare and spread across the globe. He needed to do some persuasive bartering for some of it, but he was able to collect everything he needed and return to the bunker by nightfall.

The brothers had not yet arrived back, so Castiel decided to take it upon himself to prepare food for them. Hours passed, food getting cold before he decided to put it away. He was starting to worry a bit, but there was no way to know where the two of them were at this point.

It was a little after four in the morning by the time they arrived back at the bunker. Castiel only knew they were there because something got knocked over in the library. He hurried in at the sound of Sam's cry of pain. Both of them were bloody, but the dark stains on Sam's shirt weren't just from demons.

"What happened?" the angel asked as he approached.

"Sam took a beating," Dean explained as he forced Sam to sit on the table top and began pulling off his brother's shirts. "Took a slice across his chest."

"Let me heal him," Cas suggested.

"No!" Sam replied, holding up a hand to stop him. "No, Cas. It's okay. You need to save that grace."

"You're hurt," the angel argued, furrowing his brows in confusion.

"It's not that bad," Sam countered, though he grimaced as Dean began inspecting the wound. "I heal faster with the demon blood, Cas. I'll be okay."

"He's right, Cas," Dean said, not looking away from the bleeding slash in Sam's chest. "You gotta make that shit last. I'm done playin' nice with angels. Go grab the big first aid kit from under the kitchen sink, will you? Gotta stitch him up."

"Of course..."

Twenty minutes later found Sam stitched and cleaned up, swaying where he stood with the help of his brother. "Pain killers must be kickin' in," Dean said with a smirk. "You get all the stuff?"

"I did," Castiel replied.

"I'm gonna take Sam up to bed. Then I'll come back down and we'll do this-"

"No," Sam said. "Not without me. I'm fine. I'm good. Let's go do this."

"No way, man. You're dead on your feet right now."

"Not without me, Dean. You promised... We do everything _together _now," he said, his eyes wide and pleading.

Dean sighed. "Fine. Then we do it in the morning. That okay with you, Cas?" he asked the angel.

"That's perfectly acceptable," he replied. "If it's all right with you both, I'd like to stay here for the time being. I'm...not yet certain if it would be wise to be out amongst angels who have feelings of...animosity over the Metatron ordeal still."

"You think you might be in danger?" Sam asked.

"I can't be sure," Castiel replied. "But...better safe than sorry."

"Of course you can stay here," Dean told him. "Make yourself at home."

"Thank you. And I...promise to cover my ears, should the two of decide to fornicate."

"Jesus Christ," Dean sighed, and Sam tried to hold back a chuckle. "We're not gonna- Ya know what...just... We'll see you in the morning," he said, then disappeared with Sam's arm over his shoulder.

.~*~.

Once Dean got Sam stripped down out of the bloody, dirty clothes he'd been wearing for over 24 hours, he tucked him into bed. Thinking Sam had fallen asleep, Dean leaned over to place a kiss on his hair to say goodnight, but Sam's hand grabbed onto his sleeve.

"Stay?" he asked in a whisper. "Just...for a little while?"

Dean let out a small, breathy laugh threw his nose. "Always were a cuddler on pain killers when you were little," he said as he kicked off his shoes and began stripping of his own soiled clothing.

"Was not," Sam countered, moving over in the bed to make room for his brother.

"I dunno who you think you're foolin'. I'm the star witness, bitch," he told him, then slid into bed beside him.

"Jerk," Sam replied, then snuggled into Dean's side, ignoring his brother's laugh at the action. "Hey, can I ask you something?"

"I dunno. Can you?"

"What're you my fourth grade English teacher now?" Sam quipped as he nudged a knuckle into Dean's side.

Dean hummed a laugh, jerking away from Sam's knuckle more for the fact that it tickled, than actually hurt. "Shoot, princess."

Sam ignored the insult. "When you said you'd tasted come before, when did you really taste it?" He felt Dean tense for a moment.

"I told you."

"Yeah but...I don't buy it. Just tell me, dude. It's not like I can think any less of you."

"Gee thanks, asshole," he replied halfheartedly.

"That's not what I mean."

"Yeah, yeah..." Dean hesitated. "Man, you really don't want to, or need to know."

"I kinda do," Sam replied, moving his head up to look at his brother. "And seriously now I feel like I _really _do."

Dean let out a long breath, then fixed his gaze on the ceiling. "You know...sometimes when Dad was gone a lot longer than he'd anticipated," he started, and immediately Sam got a sick feeling in his gut. "Sometimes we'd run outta food money, and stealing wasn't always an option. Back then, I mean when we were kids, pool wasn't a real viable option for making dough. So this one night, I was outside the grocery store beggin' for change. Just wanted enough to buy stuff for a couple days, but it was takin' a while. I mean, I'd left you sleepin' at the hotel, and I didn't wanna be out for that long. Then...this dude came up to me and asked if I wanted to earn twenty bucks."

"Dean..." Sam's voice cracked, and Dean turned his head to look at him then. Sam's eyes were wet, he could tell even in the low light of the room.

"It wasn't so bad," Dean assured him. "Twenty bucks in five minutes. Hell, it was easy."

"How old were you?"

"That's not important, dude."

"How old were you, Dean?" he asked more sternly, and Dean sighed, knowing Sam wouldn't let it go until he fessed up.

"The first time? You were just about eight. Which I guess means I was twelve."

"Jesus..." Sam let out in a breath and pressed his face into Dean's side again.

"I didn't have to do it too much, but...turns out there are plenty of perverted freaks all over the map. Just had to make sure you were safe enough to leave alone for a little while." He felt Sam quake beside him, little puffs of breath hitting his skin on his side. "Dude, c'mon. It really wasn't that big a deal."

"The things you did for me," Sam whispered brokenly. "And I was always an asshole to you..."

"What? No you weren't," Dean replied. "You were a bitch sometimes, but hell...I loved you more than anything. You were my responsibility."

"Did Dad know?"

"Fuck no he didn't," Dean replied. "He'd have killed me."

"He'd have left more money," Sam countered.

"I asked a few times, but he'd always just tell me I need to learn to ration shit."

"He was a dick."

"Hey!"

"No, Dean, stop defending him. He fucking left us...and I get that. He had shit to kill and what the fuck ever. But he couldn't even be bothered enough to know his own son had to suck dick just to feed his baby brother."

"To feed _both_ of us," Dean said.

"Yeah right, Dean. You went without food way more than you ever should have, just so I had shit to eat."

"In my defense, I usually came home without an appetite after doing that crap," Dean shrugged. Sam began to cry in earnest then, burying his head deeper into Dean and wrapping his arm tightly around his middle. "Hey...hey, Sammy, don't do that," Dean said as he turned and ran a hand through his brother's hair, trying to comfort him. "I did what I had to do to take care of you. I don't regret that."

"You shouldn't've had to," Sam replied, voice cracking. "And I was a shithead to you, man."

"You were a kid, Sammy. Kids are assholes. You were exceptionally awesome in comparison. Stubborn little fucker, but you were awesome," he told him, and he felt, rather than heard, the mixture of a sob and a laugh. "And you were mine. I'd suck a thousand fuckin' dicks to make sure you were okay. I don't even care how much you hate that, either. So you can shut the fuck up about it if you were planning to bitch."

"I'm sorry," Sam told him. "I know I get angry at you and yell at you when you do this stuff for me; sacrifice for me. But really...really I'm just mad that you had to do it at all, Dean. I'm grateful, but I'm mad because you had to do those things...and if it wasn't for me, you wouldn't have had to do it ever..."

"Don't even... Damnit, Sammy," he said as he pulled his brother tightly into his arms. "If it wasn't for you, I'd be a good-for-nothin' drunk sittin' in the back of a bar somewhere, if I was even still alive."

"If I'd never been born, you'd have a normal life with Mom and Dad. No hunting. No danger. No demons..."

"If you'd never been born, I wouldn't know what the fuck real love felt like," Dean countered, his voice cracking even with the thought of Sam not being part of his life. "I'd never know what it felt like to love someone so much. I'd trade even damn piece of apple pie, every pair of boobs I ever motorboated," he said, hearing when Sam chuckled against his chest, "Every other possible scenario on how life could've been if we weren't in this gig. Because without you, Sam...none of it matters. I'll take anything life...or even death throws at me, 's long as I've got you."

Sam was silent in Dean's arms for a few long moments.

"You're just sayin' that because now you've got my ass," Sam said with a grin Dean could hear even without seeing his face.

"Smart ass," Dean said, yanking a handful of his brother's hair as Sam laughed. "Even if I didn't have your ass, it'd still all be worth it." Sam smiled against Dean's skin. "Although I'd probably wanna take back some of that motorboating..."

"Jerk," Sam said with a chuckle, pinching Dean's side.

"You love me," Dean said with a cocky smirk.

"Yeah," Sam replied sleepily. "I really do..."

.~*~.

Sam tossed a lit match into the bowl of prepared ingredients, causing a suddenly burst of flame and a small cloud of purple smoke. Dean stood on the opposite side of the storage unit, lighter in hand. Castiel stood leaned up against the closed sectional door, both nervous and a bit fearful of what might happen.

They'd rented the unit in order to avoid exposing the location of the bunker, though Dean had zero intention of letting the angel live beyond his usefulness. At least they'd been able to secure the room, protecting it from detection and any broadcasts the angel might try to make. Hopefully they wouldn't need anything else. Dean was running out of patience as it was.

"What in the Father's name are you doing, Castiel?" an unfamiliar man's voice sounded, and when the brother's looked up, they saw the angel. A very young vessel, no older than twenty-five, standing around the same height as Castiel. Dean was quick to light the ring of holy oil. Chamuel looked down at the fire with wide eyes. "What's going on, brother? Why are you doing this?" he asked, looking back up at Castiel.

"The holy oil is for cautionary reasons," Castiel told him.

"Probably a good idea," Chamuel replied, "Since I already feel like ripping your throat out."

"Excellent start," Dean said as he rounded the circle to stand between his brother and Castiel. "I'm guessing you have an idea why we brought you here."

"I'm not going to help you," he replied, then looked to Castiel. "Sorry, brother, but Metatron was right. You're not worthy of your grace. Especially since you seem to value your own life over your brothers'. Dispensing of them for your own selfish needs. You should be ashamed."

"First of all," Dean started, stepping in front of Castiel as if to protect him, blocking Chamuel's view of him. "Metatron stole Cas's grace so he could kick you all outta the house. The fact that you're still defending that whack job makes you an even bigger whack job."

"Metatron might've been a little...overkill in his tactics," Chamuel replied, "But he was getting things done. There was progress where before, there was chaos."

"Is that what you call it?" Dean said with a laugh. "Funny. Secondly," he continued, "Cas took another angel's grace only after he'd been tortured and left to be finished off by one of you. That grace he's wearin' now? Well, that's my doing, not his."

"You're wasting your breath, ape."

"See, I don't think I am," Dean said with a shrug. "You tell us what we wanna know, and we'll give you the same option we offered the last douchebag brother of yours; go hard or go home."

"Or what, you'll leave me here?" Chamuel laughed. "You think I haven't had worse? I'll not betray my orders."

"Newsflash," Sam chimed in, stepping forward toward the circle. "The guy that gave you those orders is now sitting in Heaven's jail. You're not impressing anyone. You don't get anything out of this."

"I get the satisfaction of having not helped you," Chamuel replied smugly. "You Winchesters...always thinking you can waltz around doing whatever you please. Haven't you done enough? Haven't you been given enough favors over the years? Cheated death, freed Lucifer, kick-started the apocalypse, freed the Leviathans from Purgatory-"

"In their defense," Cas said as he stepped into view, "That last one was my fault."

"Don't you get it," Chamuel directed to the angel. "You _are _one of them. You are a Winchester. Much more than you are an angel anymore."

"And I suppose you and all your other siblings are just...innocent little snowflakes in the grand scheme of things, huh?" Dean said with a shake of his head.

"I'm not going to help you," Chamuel stated again. "I don't care what you have to say."

Dean grinned. "Oh good," he told him. "We get to do this the hard way..."

.~*~.

"Are you fucking joking me?" Crowley growled after the brothers explained what they needed him to do.

"You wanna be topside a while, _and _get to do some torturing," Dean said with a raised brow. "Where's the joke in that?"

"I'm not a soldier of Pilate or your bloody hellhound, Dean. You can't just call me to do your bidding whenever you get stuck. Although...I do admit that torturing an angel does sound appealing..."

"When do I get me a hellhound, by the way?" Dean asked, mostly sarcastically.

"Dean," Sam protested.

"Relax, I'm kidding," he told him, then turned to Crowley and raised a questioning brow anyway.

"You don't get any of my dogs," Crowley grumbled. "I get to keep those in the divorce. As for your angel problem, I suppose I could help out, but only because it sounds fun. Don't get used to me submitting to your will."

"Trust me, if I knew anything about hacking into angel-radio, I'd have left your ass in Hell," Dean told him.

"Always such a pleasure doing business with you, Dean," Crowley said sarcastically. "Have I mentioned that lately?"

"I'm an equal opportunity employer," Dean replied.

"You are _not _my employer!" Crowley shouted.

"'Course I am," Dean replied with a smirk.

Crowley growled and sneered for a moment. "You... I have such strong levels of both hatred and admiration for you, Squirrel. It's a very confusing time for me." Dean remained silent. "Right then. Where's the butterfly that needs its winged plucked? I'll need some time alone with it."

"You'll have me to keep you company," Dean told him.

"I don't need company."

"And I don't care," Dean replied.

"What, you think I'm gonna take the information and run with it?" Crowley questioned. "You think I'm looking for a loophole in our deal? That I'll run off and snag your beloved angel's grace and hold it over your head until you let me out?"

"Somethin' like that."

"You wound me, Dean," he said with a hand to his chest in feigned pain. "But my heartache aside, do you honestly think I'd be stupid enough to risk double-crossing you right now? I may very well be an asshole, but I'm not stupid."

"That's debatable," Dean replied.

"See now, I'd break your arm for that comment," Crowley said with narrowed eyes. "But that _would_ be stupid. Why? Because I know you could kill me before I got that far. Not stupid, Dean. Much to my dismay, you currently hold all the high cards, and I'm stuck with twos and threes. I'm pissed, and you won't even let me take that out on anyone, but I'm not going to double-cross you. You're wiping out all the morons for me. I've got my true, loyal followers sitting pretty—albeit bored—back home. If I try to go against you, chances are I end up dead. Or if I'm really lucky and I happened to win, I'm still left with a bunch of insubordinate fucking children running around wild, not to mention a moose and a trench coat with nothing left to lose."

"I'm hearing a lot of defense and not much of why you wanna work alone," Dean interjected.

"I work better when there's no one breathing down my neck," Crowley replied. "That, and you'd be wasting valuable slaughtering hours. Last time I did this—not counting the little Sam/Gadreel intervention—it took weeks. I doubt you'll be wanting to put off hunting for that long. Your prey will have moved on by then." Sam and Dean shared a glance. "I haven't lied to you," Crowley continued. "But if you're really still that worried, then paint me into the corner. Devil's trap the place so I can't leave before you two get back. But uh...do me a favor and give me plenty of room around the butterfly, eh?"

.~*~.

By noon, Sam and Dean were killing their eighth and ninth demon of the day.

"You were right," Dean told his brother as the demons crumbled to the ground. "It's much less messy to zap 'em dead." Sam gave him a lopsided grin, lids at half-mast before he swayed a bit to one side. "Whoa there," Dean said, reaching out to steady him. "At least my zapping doesn't require any recharge."

"I'm fine," Sam shrugged him off. "Just need to refuel."

"Lunch, too," Dean told him. "Let's head back to the bunker and have Cas check in on Crowley's progress. I'll fix you somethin' to eat."

Sam stepped forward with another grin on his face. "Then maybe we can grab a quickie before we head back out," he suggested.

"That's my kinda lunch break," Dean replied with a grin of his own. He reached his hands out to grab a hold of Sam, when suddenly the younger brother tensed all at once, a grunt escaping him as his eyes widened on Dean's. "Sam?"

"De..." he began to drop, and suddenly Dean saw the demon standing there behind him, a bloody knife in his hand and a sly grin on his face.

"You sonofabitch!" Dean shouted and lunged on the demon, throwing the knife aside while he slammed him to the ground, holding him there by his throat.

"Let's see how you do without your pet," the demon sneered.

Dean growled, picking up the thing's head and slamming it back down before destroying him with the red, glowing blaze of power that ran through him...

TBC...


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: Warning! Major character death in this chapter. No...it's not who you think. Note: this is via request of the person who paid for this story to be written.**

.~*~.

He stood and hurried back to his brother. Still on his knees, Sam was trying in vain to reach the wound. "Sammy!" Dean shouted worriedly as he skidded down in front of him. "Sam, its gonna be okay," he told him. His blood ran cold, if that was even possible anymore. Flashbacks of a night in Cold Oak, the devastation and despair, wrecking into him all at once.

Sam was panicking, his breath coming rapidly. Dean didn't even want to look at the wound; didn't want to look away from his brother's face for even a second. "Gonna get you back, Sam. Back to the bunker. I'll patch you up, and it'll be okay," he told him, gathering him up in his arms.

The next moment found them in the library, Dean's best guess for where Castiel might be hanging out. It turns out that he was right.

"What happened?" the angel asked as he approached them.

"Sam's hurt bad," Dean said, voice shaking as he spoke. "I think we might need you to fix it this time, Cas."

"Certainly," he replied as he crouched down beside them.

"I swear I'll find you more grace if I have to," Dean continued. "No matter what happens with Chamuel. I swear it, Cas. Just please...please help Sam..."

"I'm not refusing you, Dean," Castiel replied, eyes narrowing as he appraised the older Winchester. Dean was clearly upset—terrified even—as he lifted Sam's shirts up away from the bloody wound. The younger brother fell forward then, his head leaden on Dean's shoulder.

"Sammy?" Dean shook him. "Sammy, wake up, kiddo. C'mon. Cas!" he shouted as he searched for a pulse on his brother's neck.

The angel was behind Sam before Dean finished saying his name. He saw where the blood was coming from, and reached out his hand to lay it over the wound. He let the grace within him flow down into Sam, repairing all of the damage it could find.

Dean held onto Sam, one hand still clutching the hems of his brother's shirts up out of the way for Cas. His eyes were closed where his face pressed against the side of Sam's. Sam had stopped breathing before Castiel had touched him—or maybe it just seemed like he did. Dean couldn't tell. All he knew was that this wasn't right, and he was holding his own breath now, waiting and hoping and trying not to fall apart.

Then Sam's once completely pallid body was tensing up, and he was sucking in a breath like coming up out of water. Dean's eyes opened and he pulled away just enough to look at his brother's face.

The last Sam had remembered was Dean shouting to Castiel, everything sounding as though it was being said under water. The pain had been overwhelming, spreading like fire into his chest. Then there was nothing but darkness, no different than any other time he'd lost consciousness, really. Now everything felt okay. He could breathe. The pain was gone. And Dean was looking at him with red-rimmed eyes and panic, and maybe anger, too.

"Dean, I'm sorry," Sam said in a small voice. "I didn't see him. I thought we got them all..."

"You fucking idiot," Dean said in rush of breath as he pulled Sam back into a hug. Sam was surprised to feel his brother's breath shudder from him, and he slid his arms around Dean to hold him. "What if Cas hadn't come here this week, huh?" he said, voice gruff but without enough bite. "What if we hadn't found that grace yet? What the fuck _then_, huh, Sam?"

"I'm sorry...Dean, I'm sorry..."

"Fuck..." Dean huffed a breath. He was silent for a minute, gears turning in his head. "Cas," he finally spoke. "Go check on Crowley. And uh...just...stay around there for a bit, okay? Till I call."

"Wait," Sam said, looking over at the angel. "Cas, are you okay?" he asked worriedly.

Castiel narrowed his eyes for a moment, pondering the fact that this man who had nearly died would be asking him that question. "Healing you...depleted a portion of the grace," he told him. "However, I _am_ okay. I should be fine for a while still."

"Thank you," Sam told him. "For helping me. Thank you."

"You're welcome, Sam. Try and be more careful in the future."

"I will," Sam replied. And then the angel was gone. Sam looked to his brother who was still staring at him, an unreadable expression on his face. "Dean?"

Any further questions were cut off when Dean's mouth was suddenly crushed to his. Hard, passionate, needing and wanting, Dean devoured it as he pulled Sam up off of the floor to stand. Sam went with it. He closed his eyes and held on as Dean began to peel Sam out of his button-up shirt. Suddenly Sam heard a squeaking sound beside him and his eyes shot open to look for its source. He was thrown off balance when he realized that they were no longer in the library, but in the shower room; Dean turning the faucet to turn on the water.

"Jesus, Dean!" Sam startled as the water hit him. "A little warning before zapping, please! That's cold! And I'm still dressed, dude!"

"Shut up," Dean replied softly, still busying himself with the task of getting Sam unclothed. "Just shut up, Sam."

.~*~.

The cries of Chamuel rang out when Castiel appeared in the storage unit. He grimaced at the sight. He remembered Samandriel and the state he'd found him in and rescued him from, only to be ordered to kill him in the end.

"Brother, stop this!" Chamuel begged.

Crowley turned around, only now realizing the angel was there. "What the bloody hell are you doing here?" he asked.

"I was asked to come and...check in on your progress," Castiel replied.

"Well there hasn't been any yet, so you may as well bugger off," he told him as he turned back to Chamuel.

"Please, brother," Chamuel pleaded again. "Stop this..."

"You know that I can't do that," Castiel replied. "I need to find my grace, and you are our only viable clue."

"I'll take you to Nathanael!" the angel shouted. "I swear it!"

"He's lying," Crowley said.

"I'm not. I promise you. I will take you to him."

"If you're freed, you'll run to Nathanael and tell him to relocate," Crowley countered, then turned to Castiel. "You can't trust this one."

"Why don't you just tell me where he is?" Castiel questioned the other angel.

"Because the moment I do, you'll have no reason to keep me alive," Chamuel replied. "And even if I told you where he is, or this disgusting creature happens to get the information from me," he motioned to Crowley, "Nathanael will be reluctant to hand over your grace. If you allow me to take you to him, I can convince him to give it back to you."

"And how are you gonna do that?" Crowley asked.

"I'm his messenger," Chamuel spat. "If he believes the order came through Metatron, he will comply."

"If you buy into this, you're a fool, Castiel," Crowley told him.

"Don't confuse angels and demons, Crowley," Castiel replied. "You might be used to betrayal and a strong lack of loyalty, but we are different."

Crowley laughed. "Are you being serious? Have you forgotten even just the past _year_ of your existence?"

"What assurance do I have that you're telling me the truth?" Castiel asked Chamuel.

"I promise on my grace... I will take you to Nathanael and get you your grace back. If I'm lying, and I run off, there's nothing to stop the Winchesters from summoning me again."

"You can't be considering this," Crowley said, narrowing his eyes at Castiel.

Cas held up a hand to silence him, and continued speaking to the other angel. "When we're finished, you and Nathanael will return to Heaven."

"We want to be granted pardon," Chamuel replied. "Let us stay here."

"What could you possibly benefit from staying? Metatron is locked away. You're needed up there. Both of you."

"I'm helping you in order to save my life, Castiel. At least let me live it on my own terms."

"If you stay here, I can't guarantee your safety from the Winchesters. Nor can you be allowed the opportunity for revenge upon them."

"If I promise not to touch them, will you at least let me take my chances?" Chamuel begged.

"Why are you so adamant to stay away from home?" Castiel asked, confused by the angel's relentlessness.

"I've...done things in the name of Metatron. There is going to be...animosity," he explained.

Castiel considered this for a moment. "You must know of the many things I've done," he told him. "I killed...so many of our own kind. I've disobeyed orders countless times. The list goes on, and yet...somehow our brothers and sisters have chosen to grant me forgiveness."

"Not everyone is so lucky, brother," he replied. "Lucifer did lesser things than you have. He was cast out, thrown into the darkest pits of Hell."

"A choice made by our father," Castiel replied. "He doesn't seem to be running things anymore. Not for a long time now."

"It doesn't matter. I know you're trying to convince me, Castiel, but I want to stay. Will you do this for me or not?"

Castiel took in a long breath and let it out. "Fine," he replied as he stepped forward to remove the devices from the angel.

"You're making a mistake, trench coat," Crowley said.

"The purpose of this mission is to retrieve my grace," Cas replied. "If there is a way to do it myself, I'd rather do it than to put the Winchesters at further risk."

"Risk of what, exactly? It seems they can handle themselves pretty well."

"Sam almost died today," Castiel replied, looking at the demon now. "You think Dean is unbalanced _now_? If he loses Sam because I run out of grace, imagine what will happen. His tether to humanity would no longer exist. Angels and demons wouldn't be the only thing on his to-do list." He pulled the last rod from Chamuel's head and went to work on the restraints. "There is more than one way to start an apocalypse," he continued. "And I believe that Dean Winchester on a rampage as a monumentally powerful demon is one of them."

"He's gonna be pissed that you went without him," Crowley said. "And he's gonna take it out on _me_."

"I'll likely be back before they even know I've gone," Castiel replied, helping Chamuel out of the chair. "But in the event that it takes longer than I anticipate, please tell him that I said I'm sorry. Perhaps that will...calm him down." With that, the angels disappeared, leaving Crowley alone.

"Bollocks!" Crowley growled.

.~*~.

Dean dropped the last of their sopping wet clothes into a pile beside their boots, and turned back to Sam, kissing him again as he washed away the remnants of his blood from his skin.

"Dean," Sam said softly between kisses. He was a little worried as he could feel Dean somewhere close to trembling, buzzing with some kind of energy he wasn't sure how to interpret. "Dean, are you okay?"

"You almost died," he said again. "I need to feel you. Just..let me..."

"Anything," Sam replied.

Dean pulled back and looked at him for a moment. Then he sunk down to his knees, and Sam braced himself back against the tile. "Turn around," Dean told him, looking up at him still. Sam swallowed, then slowly did as he was asked, placing his palms to the wall. He closed his eyes when he felt Dean's hands on both globes of his ass, thumbs running along the crack. Dean spread Sam's cheeks, eying the winking, pink hole before he moved forward, slipping his tongue over the rim.

"Oh my god..." Sam keened, his forehead pressing into the wall as his brother's tongue slipped inside of him.

.~*~.

"Castiel," Nathanael greeted. He was in a tall, lanky vessel dressed in a blue suit with pinstripes. The interior of the house they were currently in was mostly white, ordained with intricately carved wooden trim around the large fireplace they stood in front of. "Chamuel has assured me that I'm no longer obligated to keep your grace from you."

"I assume you wish to stay here as well," Castiel replied.

"On the contrary, I'm itching to get home," Nathanael told him with a grin. "I didn't much care for Metatron, and I didn't want to choose sides, but there wasn't much choice with the power he had."

"Why didn't you return once he was imprisoned?" Castiel asked with narrowed eyes.

"I had orders," he replied with a shrug. "A soldier doesn't abandon orders just because his commanding officer has been lost. He waits for orders from the new boss. I have yet to receive any."

"There is no...new boss," Castiel told him.

"I heard they were trying to convince you to take the job."

"I declined. I...just want to be an angel. I just want my grace back; to get back to being what I was meant to be."

"The protector of your charge," Nathanael surmised. Castiel met his eyes, but didn't reply. "Word is, he died. Now he's some kind of...super-charged demon running around destroying all of the strays." Castiel looked away. "Well there's nothing to be ashamed of there, brother," he said with a smile. "I admire the aspiration. What's the saying? 'When life gives you lemons'?"

"He's doing good works, despite his current...situation," Castiel told him. "But his ultimate goal is to be rid of the Mark so that his brother can cure him without further complications."

"Ah yes...Cain." He bent his head closer toward Castiel and whispered. "I've been keeping my eye on that one, myself."

"You know of his location," Castiel surmised.

"Well," Nathanael straightened back up, "I _am_ the master of all things hidden."

"I would be...most appreciative if you could assist us, when the time comes," Castiel said. "There's more to the situation than you might think."

"Castiel, I'm not the type of person to do favors," he replied. "However...I suppose in a way I owe you. I've been keeping your grace from you for a long while, even if it wasn't a personal choice." He pulled the vial from the chain around his neck, and it glowed brightly in the presence of its owner. "Call on me when the time comes, brother," he said with a warm smile, then pulled the vial from the chain and threw it to the ground.

The grace, now free, rose up and into Castiel, and he felt the warmth and peace of it as it filled him up. He felt whole again, and he couldn't keep the smile from his face.

Then, all at once, a completely different feeling scorched through his middle. Pain and dread. He looked down to see the edge of an angel blade protruding from his belly...

"Chamuel!" Nathanael shouted. "What have you done?!"

Castiel knew that this was the end for him. All he could think to do was to call out...and he couldn't do it aloud. He screamed out in his head...for Hannah.

.~*~.

Dean had Sam wet and stretched and ready for him, constant moans escaping him where he stood up against the wall. Dean abandoned his administrations and stood, turning Sam to face him so that he could kiss him again.

"Dean...Dean, I want you," Sam spoke, words devoured by his brother's mouth. "Please..."

"Bedroom, Sammy," Dean replied, reaching over to turn the water off before he brought them to his room. Sam was used to it now, the instant traveling. The fact that Dean could pick him up and plant him on the bed as if he weighed nothing, was still taking a little getting used to. He spread his legs wide as Dean climbed over him onto the bed. Once between his brother's legs, Dean slid his hand up Sam's hard, leaking cock where it lay against his stomach, causing Sam to suck in a breath through his teeth. He leaned down over Sam and laid his forehead against his. "I love you so much, Sammy," he told him in a shaky voice, eyes wet.

Sam blinked back the sudden stinging in his own eyes as he looked into Dean's. His hands came up to rest on Dean's shoulders. "I love you too," Sam replied. His hands moved up to Dean's face and pulled him down so that he could kiss him again. "More than anything," he said against Dean's lips.

Dean's arms snaked around Sam, between his back and the sheets, as he pressed the length of his hard cock into Sam's and groaned into the kiss. He felt when Sam pulled his knees back.

"C'mon, Dean," he said as he bit down on his brother's lower lip. "Want you. Now."

Dean growled as he reached for the lube on the side table, still sitting there from last time. He poured a generous amount into his palm and then coated his cock before lining himself up. Then he pressed in slowly, waiting for Sam to relax around him this time. Which consequently didn't take long at all.

"C'mon," Sam repeated. "Fuck me...Want you to make me feel it for days..."

"Fuck, Sammy," Dean said, burying his head in the crook of Sam's neck as he pressed all the way in. "Oh fuck...so fucking tight..."

.~*~.

"No!" Hannah screamed when she saw the blade in Castiel, Chamuel still holding onto it. She didn't hesitate to pull her own sword and run it through the traitor. She caught Castiel before he could hit the ground. "Castiel!"

Somehow, the blade still in him, he was still clinging to life to some extent. "Hannah...I have...made a mistake..." he said weakly.

"No," she said, shaking her head. "I should have been here with you. I let you down." Tears streaked her cheeks.

"How is he alive right now?" Nathanael asked curiously as he knelt down beside them.

"The...extra grace, perhaps," she replied wetly. "He won't last much longer."

"Hannah..."

"I can't do anything to help you," she cried.

"You can," he countered. "You can...tell them that I'm...sorry. And you can...help them. Please..."

"Help them?" she questioned. But there was no response from Castiel. His eyes were open still, but he was no longer there. "No...no..." Hannah shook her head, bowing it as she mourned over her lost brother...

.~*~.

"Yes! Yes...god, Dean!" Sam shouted as his brother pounded into him, ropes of come streaking his chest, unintelligible words coming from Dean as he followed him over.

They laid there like that for a while, breath returning to them slowly. Dean placed kisses up his brother's chest, lapping up the come before he met Sam's mouth again. "Mmm...know what's good after great sex?" he asked. "Pie."

Sam laughed. "I doubt you need a reason for pie."

"You're right. I don't. But you were supposed to have lunch."

"Lunch is pie, then?" he asked with a raised brow.

"Dessert. Comes after lunch, genius. You wanna come down to the kitchen with me, or want me to bring something up?"

"You're offering to wait on me?"

"Offer taken back. Come on," Dean said as he rolled off of the bed and went to the dresser to pull out some clothes. "Here ya go," he said as he threw a pair of folded jeans and a dark blue tee shirt at him.

"Boxers," Sam requested. "Top drawer."

"You really need underwear?" Dean asked with a raised brow.

"I...yeah actually. Chaffing isn't worth the easier access," he said, shaking his head.

"Fine," Dean sighed and threw him a pair of black underwear. "All my crap is in my room. I'm gonna go change. Meet you in the kitchen."

Sam watched him as he walked out of the room, and smiled to himself before he pulled on his boxers.

.~*~.

"You'll want to take him to the Winchesters before you bring him home," Nathanael suggested. "And you better be ready with an explanation. They won't be happy about this at all."

"Couldn't you have stopped this?" she asked.

"I had no idea Chamuel was planning to turn on him," Nathanael replied. "Obviously he was angry. They'd trapped him, after all. Tortured him to try and get my location from him."

"You knew this, and you still gave Castiel his grace?"

"It belonged to him," he said with a shrug.

There was silence between them for a while until Hannah spoke again. "You should come with me. To explain to them."

"They might try to kill me; think it was me who killed Castiel."

"If they won't listen, we'll leave. Maybe try to come back once they've calmed down."

"Oh Hannah... I've been holding onto that grace long enough to know its secrets. It's shown me things. I think you underestimate what he meant to those boys."

"I used to wonder what the hold was that they had over him," she replied, a knowing look on her face. "As much as he ever did right by them, he's done them wrong as well. But I remember well the incident with the souls from Purgatory and his...power-madness. The wrong he's done his own kind. And we forgave him."

"As much as we'd done to him, I think we owed him a pardon," he reminded her.

"The point is...I know what he meant to the Winchesters. Not many would have forgiven Castiel for what he'd done. Angels...well, we're _supposed_ to do things like that..."

.~*~.

"Dude, it's been...well over six hours," Dean said as he glanced at his watch, a forkful of pie in his other hand where he sat across from Sam at the table. "Why aren't you jonesing?"

Sam had been ready to take a bite of his sandwich, but paused at the question, as if just now realizing the fact to be true. "I...have no idea," he replied, shaking his head as if to clear it. "It's like it's...gone."

"How is that even possible?" Dean tilted his head. "You didn't go through any detox. No withdrawal symptoms."

"Maybe...maybe when Cas healed me...he somehow healed that too?" he theorized. "I mean...we never tried it before, did we? Maybe he didn't even know he was doing it..."

"Friggin' weird, man," Dean said, shaking his head. "Hell, we should probably go check on him. Christ...I sent him away like an hour ago. Crowley's probably driving him nuts."

"Or the other way around," Sam said with a laugh, pushing away from the table as Dean did. He prepared himself for the fast-travel, closing his eyes when Dean grabbed his shoulder, and picturing the storage unit so he would have his bearings when he opened them again.

"What the hell?" Dean yelled, and Sam opened his eyes to see only Crowley in the room. "Where's Chamuel?"

"I couldn't stop Castiel," Crowley defended. "The idiot let him take him to Nathanael, or at least that's what he said. They've been gone a while. He said if you beat him here, to tell you he was sorry. So...don't shoot the messenger, eh? It was out of my power to stop him."

"You're the one who _had_ to work alone!" Dean shouted. "This is the kinda crap that happens when I ain't lookin'!"

"I'll help find him, all right?" Crowley offered. "I tried to tell him not to listen to the little twit, but he kept on. Told him he was shifty, that one. Cas seemed determined to get his grace back without the two of you. Didn't want you in danger and whatnot."

Dean growled and crouched down to scratch out part of the devil's trap. "You go find him, damnit!" he shouted as he stood back up. "If he's in trouble, you get back here and tell me where he is, pronto."

"Yes, your majesty," Crowley said with a bow, and then disappeared.

"Is it weird that I find it kinda hot that you have that kinda control over him?" Sam asked.

Dean shot a glare at his brother. "Dude...he friggin' left without us," he said, still angry, but softer-spoken with his brother.

"Cas is strong, Dean," Sam assured him. "He can take care of himself. I'm sure he had good reason to trust Chamuel."

Dean took a calming breath, allowing Sam's words to absorb for a moment.

Then suddenly Crowley was back, the look on his face blank and unreadable. "I found him," he said flatly.

"Where?" Dean asked, stepping forward. Crowley knelt down and grabbed the handle of the sectional door, lifting it to open. There on the ground, lay Castiel's body. Behind him, Hannah and someone Dean didn't recognize, but he wasn't focused on them in that moment.

"It wasn't them," Crowley offered. "It was Chamuel."

"No," Sam's voice cracked as he spoke, stepping forward in what seemed like slow-motion toward the body. It was then that Dean looked at the angels standing there. Initially he wanted to kill them. Just because. But the look of devastation and tears on Hannah's face caused conflict, so he looked back down at Sam who was now on his knees, hovering over Castiel as if there was some way—some trick—to bring the angel back again.

It broke Dean. His head dropped to his hand, tears threatening to fall.

But quickly that changed. Burning rage replaced what should've been sorrow. It filled him up, like the blackness was expanding within him, flames licking every part of his insides. His eyes went black as he roared out at the sky...

TBC...


	8. Final chapter with notes of defense

**PLEASE FORGIVE THE AMOUNT OF DRAMATIC NOTES I HAVE TO PUT UP HERE TODAY. Sometimes a girl's just gotta vent some shit. Sometimes that shit ain't daisies and roses. Feel free to skip the notes, though. You don't have to read them. **

**AN: First off, I'd like to apologize. I had no idea who this Kelios person was when she asked for this story. I had no idea she was a Cas hater. She apparently thinks so highly of herself that she assumed I'd know who she was and her preferences. I tried to sway the story to what she paid for (for charity, mind you—so all you people giving me crap about doing that, you can shut your trap for real). But she decided that since I didn't do it right, she'd go harsh about it on Twitter. I thought we'd figured everything out yesterday, after things calmed down. But apparently she took some comments in a discussion as a personal attack on her, and then came back to say she doesn't care about this story anymore. SO...that said...since she won't be reading it anymore (and since I checked back and realized she only paid for a 15K story, therefore anything beyond that word count is technically mine), I'll go ahead and end this a little differently. I hope that makes up for whatever disappointment you felt over the last chapter.**

**As for the "you don't have to finish it" comment, Kelios- this bitch doesn't abandon her stories. No matter how much of a pain they've become.**

**Thanks!**

**.~*~.**

Dean's anger bled out like an invisible, eerie mist. They could all feel it as it fell over them like dust, the pain in it felt dark and helpless. Every heavy breath Dean took, Sam could feel the waves of Hellish heat come off of him in waves.

Sam stood from where he'd been kneeling beside the dead angel, and turned to Dean. He'd seen him angry before. Even as angry as he was in his final days with the Mark, and that had been scary enough as it was.

"Dean," Sam spoke, a hand held out cautiously, as if he was trying to approach a frightened animal.

Dean seemed to look at him for a moment, his expression unfaltering. Then he looked to the angels. It wasn't until he started to stalk forward toward them that Sam grabbed his arm.

"Dean, no!" Sam pleaded. Dean growled, pulling from Sam's grip and looking at him again. "We need them. Dean, they were his friends. We need them."

Dean's nostril flared with his heavy, furious breathing, considering Sam's words even if he didn't want to except them. He stood tall for a moment, as if coming to a decision, then opened his mouth to speak the single word, "Stay," to his brother.

"What? Dean, no," Sam protested. "We're supposed to do this together."

"Stay!" Dean roared.

And then he was gone.

"What's he doing?" Nathanael asked, a worried expression on his face.

Crowley stepped forward. "Well, if I know Dean Winchester –and I do- he's gone off on a mass killing spree. Left the moose here so he didn't have to be careful."

Sam's lips pressed together angrily, but he knew Crowley was right. He turned to Hannah and Nathanael. "If you value the lives of your people, you need to get back up to Heaven and use your angel radio to get them to go home, now," he warned.

"Castiel wanted us to help you," Hannah told him. "I want you to know that our offer stands, and we'll do as we promised. All you have to do is ask."

Sam looked down. "What will you do with him?" he asked quietly.

"The vessel...is empty, now," Hannah said. "He should be put to rest."

"Take him," Sam replied. "Take him someplace...safe."

.~*~.

Dean ran the First Blade through the last demon in the warehouse. There had been a large congregation of them there, as if they'd heard word of Dean's ruthless attacks and joined together to try and defend themselves as a group. Obviously it didn't work.

Dean turned to look at his accomplishment. There were nearly thirty bodies strewn across the warehouse floor. There wasn't a scratch on Dean.

He felt no better, though. The longing for revenge was still burning inside of him. But what he really craved was the blood of angels. He wanted to kill Chamuel; tear him apart with his bare hands and make him suffer before he let him die. He couldn't have that, though. That had been taken away from him.

The fact was, killing all of these nameless freaks wasn't satisfying enough. He'd never encountered them before. They needed to die, regardless, but it wasn't gratifying. Not really. He needed a taste of true revenge; a piece of payback for a deed that had done him wrong. The problem with that was, aside from Crowley and Metatron, there wasn't much of an option. Dean couldn't get into Heaven in his current state, and Crowley was necessary to keep alive. For now, at least.

Then something occurred to him. There _was _a loose end that they'd never tied up. An angel. One who was supposed to bring Kevin to safety, and instead sent him off with other angels who screwed up.

Inias.

Demons, Dean could find. Angels...they were trickier. There was no beacon; none that Dean could detect anyway. However, like most other angels, there was likely a way to summon him. He reached for his phone, then realized his hand was covered in blood. He wiped in off on one of the downed demons, then grabbed his phone.

Five missed calls, all from Sam.

Dean dismissed the message, opened his contact list, and pressed the dial button. The line rang twice before it was picked up.

"_Wasn't expecting to hear from you so soon,"_ Crowley said on the other line.

"I need you to find some information," Dean told him, voice low and flat. "A summoning spell. I'll text the details and the address where you'll meet me once you find everything on the list."

"_So I'm officially your errand boy, now,"_ Crowley scoffed. Dean didn't reply. _"Fine then. I know when to back off from the angry mother bear. Tell me, Dean, what should I say to Sam when he asks if I know where you are?"_

"You stay away from Sam," Dean growled.

"_Just hold onto your peanuts, Squirrel," _he replied defensively. _"I'm not the enemy, here. At least...not today. I'm the jolly little errand elf, remember? I'm only trying to cover my bases."_

"Sam doesn't need to know where I am," Dean told him. "He needs to stay in the bunker."

"_Oh that's right. Keep the princess locked up in the tower, safe and sound. There's so much danger out there in the world. Wouldn't want her to fall and scrape her knee."_

"Or get himself stabbed in the back," Dean gruffly yelled.

"_So you're going to bench him on the off chance he could get himself killed. It's funny, since you've been hunting together since he was old enough to fire a gun."_

"This is different."

"_Is it?"_

"I don't have to explain myself to you, Crowley," he growled. "Just do as I asked, and get here." He ended the call and opened a text message to send him the information.

.~*~.

Crowley took his chances when he decided to go to the bunker. He was only a little surprised to find Sam trashing the library, angrily throwing things from the shelves and pitching them at the wall. He was red-faced and puffy-eyed like he'd been crying.

"It's much more fun to blow things up than it is to throw them," the demon said.

Sam spun around at the unexpected sound of Crowley's voice. "What the hell are you doing here?" he shouted, slurring his words a bit.

"Oh and you're drunk as well. I'm sure this is _exactly_ what Dean had in mind for you."

"Where is he?" Sam yelled, stepping forward, almost tripping over the debris. "Where's Dean?"

"Taking care of business," he replied. "He asked me not to tell you where he is, and I'm a lot more afraid of _him_ than I am of you, moose."

Sam's expression slowly morphed from anger and frustration, to something akin to hopelessness and an acceptance thereof. He turned toward one of the tables and moved to put a chair back upright before he sank down into it. "So you've talked to him," Sam said quietly. "He's okay."

"Doing a lot better than your library here," Crowley said, cautiously taking a few steps forward toward the table. "Is that what's got your panties in such a bunch? You're worried your brother's gonna end up hurt or dead? He's indestructible. You should be worried for everyone else."

"That's not the point," Sam scoffed. "We were supposed to be doing this _together_."

"Aww, is the baby giraffe lonely?"

"Why are you here, Crowley?" Sam glanced to him angrily.

"I was actually hoping to use your library, but I can see it's...down for repairs right now." Crowley watched as Sam rubbed his hands over his face, then up into his hair and over until they latched behind his neck. "You know he left you here to keep you from getting killed, right?"

"He can't do that," Sam replied, shaking his head and gritting his teeth. "He can't just lock me away again."

"Oh don't be so self-righteous, Bullwinkle." Sam looked up at him then, incredulously. "He's going after bigger groups now. Bringing you with him means he's gotta watch your back. You'd just be slowing him down, which consequently isn't that big a deal on any normal Winchester-given day. But right now, Rocky needs to blow off some major steam. And maybe...just maybe he doesn't want you to end up in his line of fire."

Sam seemed to consider that for a moment, silence filling the bunker to the point that Crowley started to get anxious. "Fine," Sam said, finally. "Then I'm gonna start looking for Cain."

"What?" Crowley asked, narrowing his eyes. "Are you too drunk to hear yourself? Or are you just stupid?"

"I'm not sitting here doing _nothing_ while Dean throws a temper tantrum all over the country," Sam replied, pushing up from the chair. "I have no idea how long this is gonna go on, but in the meantime I can at least be doing something useful."

"Really," Crowley scoffed. "You're gonna go searching for Cain, who by the way is in hiding and damned near impossible to find, half-cocked and armed with what? A half empty bottle of whiskey?"

"He's just a demon," Sam replied. "I can handle a demon. He doesn't have the Mark anymore."

"He's still a Knight of Hell and could destroy you before you even get within stabbing range."

"So then you come with me," Sam said. "You're supposed to be looking for him anyway."

"Sorry, moose. I'm already running errands for your big, scary brother. Once I get him what he needs, I'll ask if he'd be willing to let me stay topside long enough to help you. That's my best offer," he said with a shrug. "Besides, you need to sober up before anything. You're no good to anyone right now."

Sam scowled at him for a moment before the demon disappeared. Pissed, he threw the mostly empty bottle of liquor against the wall and watched it shatter to the ground, the golden liquid running down to the floor. His anger melted into depression, and he slid down to the floor as his vision became blurry with tears. He didn't want to go find Cain. He didn't want to fight. He wanted Dean. He _needed _Dean...

.~*~.

When Crowley had completed his collection of needed items to summon Inias, he zapped into the location Dean had given him. He hadn't expected the sight; the blood-covered floor and the purposeful pile of demon-host bodies reeking of gasoline and death.

At the far end of the warehouse, Dean sat perfectly still on the floor, the blade on his cross-legged lap. In front of him, a circle of holy oil lay waiting. Dean's eyes met Crowley's as he began walked toward him.

"I see you've been busy," Crowley said.

"You have what I need?" Dean asked in a low, flat voice.

"All here," he gestured to the burlap sack in his hand. "I see the demon-angel ratio is a bit unfairly played here."

"Demons are easier to find," Dean retorted.

"And angels are harder to kill."

"They used to be," he replied. "But I'm not interested in just killing them," he revealed as he took the bag from Crowley.

"Going to have a little fun with this one, are we?" Crowley asked with a cocky grin.

"Not we," Dean corrected.

"Aww. Not gonna let me stay and watch?"

"This ain't about you."

"Course not," Crowley said with a shrug. "It's about revenge. Trying to make yourself feel better by making some poor sap suffer."

"He deserves it," Dean replied calmly. "They all do."

"Maybe so. Don't get me wrong; I understand how...gratifying it can be. I'm all for it. But there's no amount of pain you can afflict on anyone that'll make your hurt go away, Dean."

"What're you, Dr. Phil now?"

"Just a man that's driven a long road filled with plenty of similarly soul-crushing speed-bumps," he replied, hands up in surrender.

"You're not a man," Dean sneered.

"Either are you," Crowley retorted with raised brows. Dean glared at him. "That said, whenever you're done...doing whatever unspeakable things you're planning to do, you might want to check in with that gigantic brother of yours."

"You don't have any business telling me how to handle my brother," Dean said as he began pulling items from the bag and setting them up.

"Course not," Crowley replied flatly. "But he's currently planning a solo act to seek out Cain." Dean looked up at him then. "He wants me to help him."

"He's not goin' anywhere," Dean replied, voice just a little louder than before.

"Seems like that might've been the initial agreement between the two of you. However, you just recently changed the rules without any notice. You think Sam doesn't have it in him to be as angry as you?"

"Sam can be angry all he wants, but he stays the hell home."

"You're the only one allowed to vent their feelings, are you?"

"Shut the fuck up, Crowley."

"You're pissed off. I get it. You just lost a close friend who was too busy worrying about Sam's safety to use his damn brain and wait for you." Dean was about to retort, but Crowley cut him off. "Sam lost him too, ya know. He lost Castiel, and his big brother ran off and left him behind."

"It's not like that!"

"He's mourning, he's angry, and he's confused because he understands what you're doing and why you left him behind, but he feels betrayed and alone," Crowley continued more sternly and louder so that Dean would hear him. "So you go ahead and do whatever it is you need to do here, Dean. But then you take a moment to remember your brother; the one thing on this planet that you don't want to strike down or tear apart right now. Take it from the king of bad choices," he said more quietly, hands out at his sides, "Don't let your blackened, tortured soul muck up the only thing you really care about."

With that, the demon was gone, leaving Dean to curse under his breath as he set up the summoning spell. He pushed everything else to the back of his mind. He didn't have time to think about anything else right now.

The spell was simple. It was set up and ready to go within minutes, and it was mere seconds after lighting the bowl ablaze that Inias appeared before him. Dean was lightning quick to set the oil on fire.

Inias began to protest, ask questions. But Dean ignored him as he prepared the restraints, easily getting the angel into them. When Inias wouldn't stop talking, Dean taped his mouth shut. "If you don't shut up, I'll sew your mouth closed after I have an angel blade melted down into sewing needles," he told him.

The angel looked terrified at him, even when Dean wouldn't meet his eyes. He saw the First Blade in Dean's hand and knew that he was in trouble. What he didn't know, however, was the torture Dean had planned for him. He didn't know the Dean would take his time slicing him up, inflicting as much pain upon him that he could before ultimately killing him...

.~*~.

Sam woke up in a haze. His face was buried in a pillow that smelled like Dean, which consequently reminded him that his brother was gone. He reached over to the side table beside the bed for his phone. Three in the morning. No messages. No missed calls.

He rolled over onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. His head hurt from the previous night of drinking. His face and throat hurt from crying and yelling at nothing. His chest hurt from how much he missed his brother, and maybe just a little more from the loss they'd suffered the day before.

But there was a job to do now, so he'd get up anyway. He showered, brushed his teeth, got dressed and went down to the library to pick up his mess, carefully placing everything back where it belonged. After throwing away the last of the trash, as he stood in the kitchen and took a breath, the thought occurred to him that Dean would be trying to get him to eat right about now.

Dean...

Sam pulled out his phone and opened the contact list, scrolling to Dean's name. He hovered there for a moment longer before dialing. He didn't expect him to pick up, but he wanted to at least leave a message to let him know that he'd be going out.

But then he heard the other line pick up. It startled him for a moment, and though he waited to hear him, Dean didn't speak.

"Dean?" he said cautiously. "Dean, are you okay?" His stomach clenched with anxiety.

It was another few breaths of silence before he replied. _"Sam."_

.~*~.

"Sam," Dean finally found his voice again. Inias was flayed beyond recognition, lifeless in the chair he was bound to. The First Blade hung relaxed at his side, dripping with the vessel's blood.

He waited for Sam to start yelling; to start telling him what a mistake it was to go off on his own, and how pissed he was that he'd left Sam behind. He waited for Sam to tell him how angry and disappointed he was that Dean had broken his promise to him.

"_Come home," _Sam said, his voice sounding defeated and pleading. _"Please, Dean. I...I don't care about any of it. I just...I need you," _his voice cracked with his words, and something broke in Dean to hear the pain. _"I just need you to come home. Please..." _

Everything inside Dean wanted to scream _I can't_. He had work to do; things to kill. But Sam's pain...it twisted something up inside him; wouldn't let him speak. So he closed the phone and shoved it back into his pocket, and pulled out his lighter. There were bodies to be burned, and he'd walk away once the entire place was in flames...

.~*~.

"Dean? Dean are you there?" Sam looked down at his phone then, seeing that the call had ended. "Damnit!" He squeezed the phone in his hand, preparing to hurl it across the room, but thought better of it. Throwing things didn't help.

His eyes blurred with unshed tears, a mixture of anger and sadness overwhelming him.

It had hurt when he saw Castiel dead in the grass. It hurt bad when Dean ordered him to stay behind. But Dean ignoring his plea...not even responding when he-

"Sam," Dean's voice sounded behind Sam, and he spun around to see his brother standing there.

"Dean..." came out as a whisper. Dean let go of the blade and stepped toward his brother.

"I'm sorry, Sammy," Dean said as he wrapped his arms around him, pulling him tightly to him in an embrace. "God I'm sorry," his voice cracked as Sam's arms came up to hug him back.

"You came back," Sam said in awe. Dean huffed a laugh.

"Just had to finish something up, first," he replied.

The sound of wings flapping pulled both their attention to the doorway. Both pairs of eyes widened in shock at the sight of the angel wearing the familiar trench coat that stood before them, the light coming from behind him causing a slight silhouette.

"Cas?" Dean said on an exhale, Sam's hand gripping onto Dean's arm like a vice.

"It appears...much like you Winchesters, someone keeps bringing me back," Castiel replied...

~Fin

.~*~.

**AN: What what? That's the end? You can't leave that there!**

**Don't worry, folks. My initial intentions for this story got very skewed, and I received a lot of ridiculous nonsensical ridicule over this whole ordeal. Alas, I had a story prompt to write in the name of raising money for charity, and I had to go along with the swift change in the game. I fully intended on continuing this down a completely different path for the sake of the prompter, even though it meant thinking up a totally new strategy. Now, however, I don't feel obligated to take that path. So...my plan is to write an "alternate ending" starting with chapter 7 being rewritten the way I'd originally intended.**

**Stop reading here if you don't want to hear the drama, folks. I'm serious. If I see one dumb remark in the reviews about "can we leave the drama elsewhere" I'll Bobby-smack you.**

**That all said, I feel the need to "defend my honor" against this bag of crazy who seems to think that she can start making posts all over the place stating how she was bullied and harassed by a group of fans over this ordeal. I don't have a LiveJournal account in which to make a response, though I feel that even if I did, it would be deleted before anyone could read it. So I'll leave it here. Please note that I could not care less about this person anymore, or even what she thinks about me or anyone else, especially since she is completely off her rocker. I'm simply replying because I don't want anyone else to believe that I'm some kind of bully spreading hate...which is ironic since this all began with a hardcore Cas-hater.**

**So, in response to the deluded LJ post entitled "Charity Fic Drama" written by Kelios, I say this:**

**Awww.**

**Nobody paying attention to your attention seeking bullshit? Poor baby.**

**I was there for the conversation you're speaking about, and by the time the "seek help" and "i just want to send you xanax" comments were made, we were ALL-_INCLUDING YOU_-in a joking mood, bantering back and forth. Your lack of ability to detect sarcasm is nobody's problem but your own.**

**Nobody told you anything about how you spend your money. All that was said was that I would rather put the ridiculous amounts of money Creation charges for every little thing, into a college fund for my kid instead of go 4 times a year and blow that kinda cash. If you interpreted my personal values as an attack on what you do, THAT IS YOUR PROBLEM. Don't go around telling people that I attacked you and your money spending. That's a blatant lie, along with everything else you keep spewing and twisting so people will think I'm just a dick and you're an innocent little victim of bullying.**

**Your ridiculous drama-creation is ridiculous. **

**Also-no. NO ONE assumes that a prompter is including the GOOD GUYS in _the wiping out of_, and I quote from YOUR SPECIFICALLY REQUESTED PROMPT which is posted at the very beginning of this story, _"angel and demon parasites"_. Emphasis on the word parasites, because that means the obvious bad guys. _Not Castiel_.**

**Hell, at the risk of absolute hate from my own readers, I _STILL KILLED HIM OFF FOR YOU._ And you just kept right on being a cunt about it. We discussed this matter before I wrote his death scene and I said I would do it, but I'd do it my way. You said that was a fair compromise, even adding a little smilie emoticon to the end of the statement. Your review of the chapter: _"Well...it's not how I wanted it, but..." _Talkin' all nice in the group, then running to Twitter to bitch to your 'groupies'. **

**Play on and keep lying to your "friends" about how nice and apologetic and grovelling your poor poor wittle head was being. Please. It's so adorable! **

**You may have left voluntarily, but let me just make it perfectly clear that your drama-causing, self-righteous ass is no longer welcome in my circle. See this circle? Yeah...stay out of it.**

**I don't give a crap if you hate Castiel. That's not something I'm gonna get upset about. So what? Hate whatever character you want! I'll kill anyone you want me to kill in a story, if it's helping raise money for this charity fundraiser! Honey-badger don't give a fuck! Even your bag-of-crazy asinine behavior was forgivable for a little while, but when you start trying to twist people's words in conversations you are not providing the entirety of for your public, _you're gonna have a bad time_.**

**Let me just clue you in on a couple of facts.**

**Nobody likes you. **

**You're the Dick Roman to their Leviathan. -they talk to you because you're the go-to for hating on Cas. But they would rather eat you.**

**You're the Pennsatucky to their white-trash Jesus crew. -they used to think you were their God, but now they know you're outcha damn mind. **

**You're the Eric Cartman to their Kyle, Stan and Kenny. -a disillusioned, self-centered asshat, but there's not that many of you to choose from, so they hang out with you for reasons of numbers.**

**All of that said, I'm not even trying to harp on any of your followers. They're probably not the level of nuts you have risen yourself up to be. They only know your side of the story, so how could they possibly have all of the information necessary in order to make a proper judgment? **

**In conclusion, congratulations, Kelios. You've made yourself even more famous. Now I know your name and that you're a person I will strive never to encounter again. Not because of your character preferences, but because you are a nutjob, and ain't nobody got time for that. I really do feel sorry for you more than any other feeling I have when I think of your name.**

**And THAT, my friends, is what "throwing you under the bus" looks like. I don't know how it works when the same person is driving said bus in the first place, but there you have it. lmao**


End file.
